


Ad Infinitum

by communikate



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Alternative Universe - Mermaids, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Murder, Bisexual Shiro (Voltron), Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Depression, Drowning, Explicit Gore, Groundhog Day, Groundhog Day Time Loop Trope, Kidnapping, Langst, M/M, Magic, Murder, Mutual Pining, Panic Attacks, Poaching, Poisoning, Slow Burn, Spontaneous Combustion, Suicidal Tendencies, Suicide Attempt, Temporary Character Death, This is honestly an angst fest and I'm not sorry, Time Loop, Time Travel, Torture, Vomiting, Zombies, kangst, klangst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2019-06-06 22:50:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 58
Words: 183,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15205208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/communikate/pseuds/communikate
Summary: “I honestly don’t hate you, Lance,” Keith confessed.“Well,” Lance laughed and spoke in a facetious tone, “I guess I can die happy now.”In a flurry of instinctual movement, Keith pushed Lance up against the wall, fists curled tightly into the front of his jacket. Keith’s hands trembled as tears blurred his vision of the blue paladin’s panicked face.“Don’t you say that. Don’t you ever say that!” Keith breathed, clenching the fabric tight enough to leave wrinkles.~~~~Death is an unavoidable consequence of war. However, it doesn’t make light of Lance’s sacrifice or the way it shakes the very heart of the team in the aftermath of the battle and their victory over the empire. Lance’s absence weighs heavy on their minds - an unforgettable presence lost.With the feeling of nightmares crawling under his skin, Keith wakes to Lance’s familiar face and laugh and the overwhelming influence of Zarkon, alive and well. But when Lance dies again as a casualty in the battle, Keith realizes that this may be a nightmare he’s tapped within until he saves Lance or dies trying.(next update 6/12, hopefully)





	1. Every Ending is a New Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This is my piece for the VLD Supernova Bang!!
> 
> I hope you are all in for a long ~~angsty~~ ride, because this fic is gonna be a long one haha
> 
> Please read the tags and be wary of all of the warnings listed above!!
> 
> Please enjoy <3

Like a strike of lightning, Voltron’s flaming sword finally ripped through Zarkon’s mechanic suit, splaying open the metal and leaving the serrated edges sparking. A harsh cheer, grating with ferocious victory, unanimously rang through their communicator.

Swinging again, the sound of distorting metal vibrated through the sword. Keith’s hands trembled with adrenaline as his grip tightened on his lion’s control, knuckles white. Red was a constant supporting presence that hummed alongside the feeling of his teammates minds working in tandem with his.

“Again!” Shiro commanded, and Lance and Hunk pushed their lions forward, following Zarkon’s retreat. With a bellowing cheer, Keith and Pidge swung the sword, slicing through the severed chest of the mechanic suit. Gritting his teeth against the impact, Keith pushed Red farther, carving deeper into the metal and revealing Zarkon tangled in the wires.

Debris from Zarkon’s suit clattered against Voltron, scratching metal against metal.

Silence settled between them, relief rushing through their veins as they took in the sight of Zarkon. The suit was flayed open, the metal curling outwards like flower petals and exposing Zarkon nestled in a tangle of wires that twisted around his arms and torso. Portions of his armor crumbled around a shard of metal that pierced his stomach, colored with streaks of violet.

“Did we do it?” Pidge whispered, a disbelieving reverence in her tone.

“We can’t be sure. We have to check the body,” Shiro swallowed. “Voltron disband.”

The lions pulled apart and the soft reassurance of everyone’s minds diminished into a faint buzz. Without hesitating, Keith was plunging out of Red’s mouth and jet-packing to Zarkon. Activating his bayard, he ignored the questions his teammates yelled through his helmet communicator.

Zarkon had to be killed. There was no other way to ensure the safety of the universe and everyone in it.

Keith understood the danger of examining Zarkon’s corpse -- exposed in the middle of space, surrounded by enemies with only his bayard for protection.

Flying closer, Keith dodged the debris from Zarkon’s collapsing suit. Taking a deep breath, he charged forward, bayard poised in attack. The sword sank deep into Zarkon’s neck and imbedded into the metal of the surrounding machine.

He swore that in this haze of vengeance and his mind just imagined the choking gurgling noise the emperor exhaled around the blade of his sword. Imagined the scent of blood and the suctioning squelch the sword made when he yanked it free from the Emperor’s flesh. That all of that was some fevered imagination, and that he hadn’t taken his first life with his bare hands.

Fear and disgust roiled his stomach, hands shaking as purple blood floated to the surface, darkening the color of the Galra armor.

A flash of memories colored his mind, saturating it with a series of emotions he fought to bury. The state of the balmera, crying out in pain as the Galra harvested crystals and enslaved her people. The way the Olkari were oppressed and betrayed by their leader who sold and sacrificed his people for his own personal gain. How Shiro was plagued with PTSD that haunted his gaze and dreams, trapped with a permanent reminder of his year of captivity fixated to his arm. How Pidge was still struggling to find her family, lost to the endless Galra empire and expanse of space. How Allura surrendered the last living memory of her father to the people who had murdered and plagued the universe for the last 10,000 years.

The Galra were nothing but the parasites of the universe.

Like a surge of fire in his veins, his emotions overwhelmed him, drawing him under a sea of red like an undertow. Unadulterated Rage.

Thrusting his sword again, he slashed through the remains of Zarkon’s armor, relishing in the spray of blood that dotted his hands and armor. The blade sunk deep into the emperor’s stomach, paralleling the piece of metal protruding between his ribs. As Keith ripped his sword from the soft flesh, a large splatter of blood sprayed on his visor. All he could see was blood.

A wave of disgust and fear -- of his devouring rage, of his actions, of himself -- coiled his stomach. But Keith swallowed it down, only focusing on the fury that burned like embers in his lungs.

His hands shook, and he stabbed into the emperor’s neck, hacking away at the fabric of his armor and the corded muscles of his neck. With a guttural scream, he thrust straight through the sternum and into Zarkon’s heart.

Keith didn’t realized he hadn’t stopped screaming until there were firm arms around his chest.

“It’s over, Keith. It’s over,” Lance whispered as he slowly pulled Keith away from Zarkon’s mutilated body. His head tilted to the side, pooling blood that seemed to drift with the momentum of slashed skin.

Squeezing his eyes closed, Keith focused on the blue paladin’s voice, a calming breeze in the sea of rage and disgust that threatened to drown him.

The firm grasp of Lance’s arms lessened across his chest as they drifted away from the emperor’s corpse. Each breath was ragged as his ribs trembled from the force of steadying his heartbeat. Swallowing harshly, he winced at the sheer rawness to his throat.

Pulling out of Lance’s grasp, Keith turned to give him a shy smile.

Lance just smiled in return, slapping Keith on the arm. “Come on, Mullet. We still have a job to do. Let’s get back to our lions,” Lance stated, starting toward the waiting mouth of his lion.

Keith’s gaze followed Lance, and he noticed that the other paladins were guarding them from the advances of the remaining fighter jets. Gritting his teeth, Keith was reminded that this battle wasn’t over yet.

There was suddenly a charge to the air, an almost palpable energy that danced down his arms and made his hair stand on end. His head snapped toward the origin of the rush of energy, he saw the bolt of purple lightning charging directly toward him -- unprotected, floating in space with nothing but his armor for defense.

The energy hit him directly.

“Keith!”

Electricity fried his nerve endings, an endless searing that corroded his lungs. All of his muscles contracted at once, threatening to snap in the resistance. And the only sound left echoing through the comms were his fading screams.

  


**~~~~**

  


Disorientation hummed in his mind, a fog that ebbed and flowed between unconsciousness and wakefulness. There was the constrictive pressure of his suit across his fingers and his chest. A small breath. Agony like scalding heat rocketed through the marrow of his ribs and down the length of his legs. A moan sounded deep in his throat, instinctual and guttural.

“Keith? Oh god, Keith.”

Flickering lights. A soft touch to his cheek. The brush of hairs against his raw skin. There was the sensation that he had opened his eyes, but everything was blurry. Black and gunmetal grey, and a familiar shape with softened edges like tears had clouded his vision. He couldn’t focus his eyes. He slowly felt them slipping closed.

“No. No! Please, please keep your eyes open. No, I don’t know what’s going on, Shiro! I can’t even _think_ with everyone talking.”

Anxiety tingled in the tips of his fingers and the corners of his mouth. He couldn’t remember anything beyond pain that still danced along his bones, but he knew that he needed to be doing something - something important. With trembling limbs, Keith forced himself to sit up, but every movement was uncoordinated, muscles contracting and struggling independently from the others. It was as if his body was struggling to regain normal functions. Pushing his elbows into the metal flooring, a moan reviberated against his ribs. Every nerve fiber was a conduite for torment. His arms gave out, and he fell back to the floor, head bouncing slightly.

“Just shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!” The voice was growing louder over the softening high pitched hum.

Keith laughed slightly, more of a huff through his nose than anything else, quickly followed by a weak whimper.

There was the soft touch on his cheek again, “Keith! Buddy? You awake?”

“Lance?” He croaked, eyes opening and finally focusing. Lance’s features sharpened, and Keith could see how the blue paladin’s eyes were wide and glossy, tears glistening on his bottom lashes. His face was pale, and there was this slackness to his features that betrayed true fear.

Dark eyebrows knitted together as Lance leaned closer, “You okay?”

Keith struggled to sit up again, but rather than protesting his movement, Lance guided him, hands bracing his torso. He would have fallen back to the unforgiving metal floor of Blue’s cockpit if Lance didn’t have a firm grip on his shoulders.

With a shaky hand, Keith brushed his bangs back, sticky with sweat. His gaze slid from Lance’s pinched features to look around Blue’s cockpit, he hadn’t been in here since the day everything changed, since the day they found Shiro. His gaze landed on his helmet, thrown to the other side of Blue’s cockpit, visor shattered and comms sparking.

An impact forced the lion to shake, drawing Keith’s gaze to the front window, portraying the still raging battle outside.

Red was standing sentry, taking hits and shooting lasers at ships that dared venture too close. Bolts of energy from the base of the Galra command center destroyed any of their own ships that got in the way. They became drifting hunks of metal, lifeless and perfect target practice.

“I need to -”

“You need to rest.” Lance commanded, leaving Keith’s side as he took his seat in the pilot’s chair. He tightly gripped the handles of the blue lion and whispered something into the comms with a broken voice. Keith couldn’t hear what it was over the ringing in his ears.

He stumbled to his feet, hands grabbing at the wall for any form of a crutch. His body still ached but with each moment on his feet, the pain seemed to diminish.

Without warning, Lance took off, directing Blue into the heat of the battle. But there was a tentativeness to his actions, not daring to take as many risks as he dodged fighter jets and took out lifeless fleets. When a single laser shook Blue’s hide, he turned with a ferocity that rivaled that of a mother lion. With a swinging tail, he iced over a dozen fighter jets.

Lance kept mumbling into his helmet either to their teammates or to himself as Keith gripped the back of his seat, “Bring me to Red.”

There was only silence and the sight of a fighter jet exploding. “No, Keith. We can clean this up.”

“But Voltron -”

“Keith!” Lance barked, shoulders rising quickly as his hands tensed on the controls. “Trust us to handle this,” he whispered in a firm tone that Keith had never heard before, shaped by battle and death and the terror he had seen on the blue paladin’s face earlier.

Keith ground his teeth and tightened his grip on the back of Lance’s chair. Of course he trusted his team, but if he could get to Red, they could form Voltron - granting them a higher possibility for success and a diminished risk of any of his teammates getting injured.

But it took all of his energy just to steady his legs enough to stand, even with the support of his grip on Lance’s chair. His head swam as he watched the battle through the eyes of the blue lion, nausea threatening to overcome him as Blue took a sharp turn. He knew that he was in no shape to pilot, let alone fight.

So, he could trust his team. He could support Lance from behind. He could stay safe and not distract his teammates from the current battle.

At least that was what he trying to convince himself to think until he saw an ion cannon strike the black lion in the back.

“Shiro!” Lance screamed, thrusting the Blue lion towards their leader only to be stopped by a dozen fighter jets. “Shit. Shiro, come in!”

Whatever pain had saturated his muscles vanished, adrenaline buzzing in his veins as he snatched his helmet off the ground. Only stumbling slightly, Keith sprinted out of the mouth of the blue lion and called Red to his side. The last thing Keith heard before bursting into tremulous space was Lance calling his name.

Red snatched him up, open mouthed and desperate for her paladin.

“Good kitty,” he purred, grabbing the controls and relishing in the blinding fury that had ignited when he stabbed Zarkon. “Shiro!”

“Keith,” Shiro breathed through the static that echoed through the red paladin’s communicator. Gritting his teeth, Keith watched the black lion flail for control through his shattered visor.

“I’ll protect him until he can recover,” Keith directed, guarding Shiro from any Galra that attempted to take advantage of his wounded state. “Everyone else focus on the other fleets.”

There was a static-filled reply from all of the paladins.

Keith thirsted for blood, taking dives and turns too sharply and digging his jawblade deep into the sides of ships even after Shiro had recovered enough to fight.

But there was only crackling through his communicator, allowing several words with screaming static to slip through. He thought he heard Lance call his name.

“Team, form Voltron!” Shiro called, and it was the first clear sentence Keith heard. But as they began to fly in formation, there was a scream that crackled through all of their comms. It burst with static and the taste of dread, heavy on his tongue.

“Lance!” Hunk’s scream was half crackling. And Keith couldn’t tell if he had only yelled it once or if the crackling had drowned out any of his other cries.

They watched in stunned horror as the bolt of purple lightning enveloped the blue lion. With hungry tendrils, it seemed to devour everything that was Blue until she stilled, floating in space with no light in her eyes.

Was it just static or Lance’s distant screams distorting everything that filtered through the comms? Whatever it was vanished to quiet monotone hums.

Pidge whispered, “Lance?”

There was no response. Hunk dove towards the blue lion, and they all feared the worst. Shiro said nothing, turning with ferocity to shoot his laser at an oncoming fighter jet. Keith heard Pidge take a shaky breath over the quiet hum of white noise.

Hunk began flying closer, “There is a chance that the energy just knocked out his comms. I mean Keith’s alright after receiving a direct hit!” The desperate hope he held shook in his voice.

Before Hunk could even fly close enough to Lance to check, the singeing sound of an ion cannon fired. The force sent Hunk careening backward, hitting the Blue lion directly in the face and shearing off her jaw. Debris colored the space behind Blue like a small asteroid field, drifting in the beauty of the milky way, like ink diluting and drifting in the current of an ever flowing river.

There was a deafening silence between them, a fear that saturated every breath.

“Lance!” Hunk sobbed, propelling the yellow lion to Lance’s side.

With a scream, Keith tore through the remaining fleets separating him and Haggar, fingers in a white knuckle grip on her controls as she purred encouragements into his mind.

Someone may have called his name, but he could only hear the sound of his blood pumping in his ears and the static of his communicator. Using his jaw blade, he slashed a space big enough to enter through the side of the Galra command center.

Red’s lava melted the walls and the sentries that fired lasers that merely bounced off her hull. Keith ravished the inside of the ship with a twisted smile contorting his features. An explosion shook Red and caused his ribs to bruise against the armrest of his chair.

Snarling with fury, he felt nothing but adrenaline and bloodlust.

He tore through the command center, finding the area where the Druids performed their spells, where they cultivated the blasts of energy that had threatened to tear him from the sky and had sent Lance careening to the earth.

Standing in the middle of the room was Haggar, the witch that had threatened to strike him from the sky. Keith watched her hooded eyes drift from Allura, shrouded in a pink aura, to the snout of the lion that threatened to engulf the room in flames. While she was distracted, Allura sent a blast of aura at the witch, blasting her in the chest and sending her spiraling from the platform and into space.

With a smile, he pivoted Red and incinerated every other druid in the room.

But it still wasn’t enough.

He ignored the pleas of his team through the comms: that it was time to stop, that this was already over, that they already lost Lance, and they didn’t want to lose him too. But he couldn’t hear them over the rage in his heart and Red’s purring.

Turning his back on them and silencing his comms, he focused his anguish on the castle itself.

He didn’t leave until there was only fire and debris left of the galra fleet. Swerving around half-charred galra bodies and the mere fragments of nearly-unidentifiable corpses, he flew Red home. The black lion flew close to him, almost escorting him back to the Castle of Lions.

There was a detached sense of reality that saturated his mind, the gossamer-thin veil of a dream. Was it over? Had they truly saved the universe?

With measured steps, he walked down the hallway, helmet held under one arm. He followed the sound of rushing footsteps and cries, finding himself outside of the yellow lion’s hangar.

The door was already open, and he could see a pieces of blue metal scattered through the threshold. Before stepping into the room, he picked one up with numb fingers and enjoyed the grounding pain that flared through his system as he squeezed the piece with trembling frustration.

Hunk sat perched outside of the torn open face of the blue lion. Her eyes were dull and lifeless, a mirror of her paladin’s. Allura stood with a single hand on a twisted paw, steadying herself. Her features were pale, and not simply from the exhaustion of operating the teludav.

Pidge huddled close to Allura’s side, almost afraid to take a step closer to Blue or to Hunk.

Shiro took several steps forward, placing a cool, metal hand on Hunk’s shoulder.

“Don’t you fucking tell me it’ll be okay, Shiro!” Hunk yelled, snapping his head to the side. The limp body in Hunk’s arms flailed slightly at his sharp movement.

Lance’s head lolled over Hunk’s arm, their chests pressed tightly together. His legs were haphazardly draped over Hunk’s other arm as if he’d had given up halfway after pulling Lance out of the cockpit. The smear of blood across the white-tiled floor.

Keith’s eyes focused on a droplet of blood that fell from the gnarled metal of Blue’s mouth to the growing puddle on the floor. Taking a small step forward, his feet stuttered and his throat clenched.

“The last of the Galran forces have been eliminated, Princess,” Keith declared, holding tight to the last edges of his threadbare composure.

The group flinched at Keith’s steady voice. Allura turned wary eyes on Keith, nodding firmly. She removed her hands from Blue and folded them in front of her, “Thank you, Keith.”

Keith nodded sharply, clenching the piece of Blue’s hide in his hand.

“Why are you so calm, Keith?” Hunk’s voice cut through the uneasy silence that had settled over them. With features pinched in rage, he stood, cradling Lance in his arms. Keith watched the way Lance’s limbs swung lifelessly against Hunk’s armor, blood dripping faster down Hunk’s chest. “Don’t you care about the fact that Lance just _fucking died_?”

Keith squeezed the helmet under his arm tighter, hearing the already fractured plastic creak. “I thought it might be comforting to know that we won the battle. To know that Lance’s sacrifice wasn’t for nothing,” Keith exhaled, trying to find any form of patience in this scenario.

“Lance wouldn’t have had to _sacrifice_ himself,” Hunk spit out the word like venom on his tongue, “if you’d just thought about what you were doing for once in your _fucking_ life before diving into things. If you weren’t just as bloodthirsty as all of the other Galra, this -”

“That’s enough!” Shiro’s announced, voice firm and authoritative. Hunk turned a scathing glare on Shiro, and Keith couldn’t fight the way his gaze drifted to Lance for the first time. The hair that Lance always styled with deft fingers was matted hair on the side of his head, thick with coagulated blood. Lance’s suit dripped blood down the front of Hunk’s armor and onto the ground, pooling around Hunk’s feet. His limbs shook slightly with the trembling of Hunk’s arms.

There was a small sniffle, and Keith’s head snapped to look at Pidge. Her bayard was clutched desperately in her hand, as if she was aching to do something with it, as if there were anyway to fight her way out of this situation, as if there were any way out of this situation.

Ducking her head so that Keith’s couldn’t see the gleam of tears in her eyes, her chin trembled and her voice was a warble, “I - I think I’m going to go check with Coran to make - to make sure that the castle doesn’t need any immediate - uuh - repairs.”

She quickly marched to the door, head down and bottom lip clamped tightly between her teeth. The second she was out of the hangar, Keith heard her run. Heard the desperation in her footsteps and the wracking sobs that echoed down the metal corridor.

He envied her. Envied how she could leave, how she could mourn Lance so acutely. But from the high of the battle, the moments of disbelief still weighed heavy in his chest. Even looking at the limpness of Lance’s body only brought back easily ignored surges of memories from a long forgotten time on Earth.

Hunk hadn’t moved since Shiro had spoken.

Shiro cleared his throat, “I think we each need to take the time to process this in our own way. Okay?” Keith could see the quiver of Shiro’s chin and the nervous way he licked his lips. Hunk nodded stiffly, and Allura stepped forward. With a calming hand, she directed Hunk out of the hangar - directed him as to where to place Lance’s body.

Lance’s _body_. No longer just _Lance_.

Keith stood still, only feeling weighed down by the small squeeze of his shoes on his toes and the piercing pain of the metal in his hand.

“Keith,” Shiro’s voice was barely a whisper. He had taken several steps closer to Keith, but the red paladin didn’t look up to meet his eyes. “You know that what happened to Lance isn’t your fault.”

Keith swallowed thickly and squeezed his eyes closed. And he saw the lifeless sway of Lance’s limbs and the reverence at which Hunk cradled him to his chest. His eyes met Shiro’s. There was a concern in the set of Shiro’s features intertwined with a barely held mask of control.

He felt his chin tremble and the tightness of unshed tears constrict his throat. It was all he could do to just nod. Turning away from Shiro and his watchful eyes, he let grief mar his features. All he wanted was for the black paladin to leave, to let him come back to reality in pieces.

He didn’t want to cry, let alone in front of Shiro. They may have become more than just mentor and mentee at the Garrison, like brothers, like the only family Keith had. But the kind of comfort they were both seeking now wasn’t an aspect of their relationship, not when Keith’s grief was so intertwined with rage and rebellion. And a year of separation and constant anxiety did not cultivate the kind of vulnerability this situation required.

“I’ll be in my room if you need me, Keith,” Shiro spoke softly, always open, always willing. Patting him firmly on the shoulder, the Black Paladin left the hangar.

Tucking the piece of metal into his pocket, Keith walked to Blue’s side and placed a gloved hand on her chipped hide. He ignored the smell of blood and the faint sound of the droplets hitting the floor. With a sigh, he placed his forehead against the cool metal and wished for strength, allowing his first tear to fall.

  


**~~~~**

  


The next few hours were absolute hell.

Allura had called everyone together for an announcement in the command center. Kolivan stood tall, features stone and steel, even in the wake of Antok’s death. (Victory or death: this had certainly been a victory and there had certainly been death). But there was a tightness to his jaw and a glossiness to his eyes.

It seemed as though some of the remaining outposts of Zarkon’s forces had surrendered to Voltron thus calling an official end to the war. They had “officially” succeeded.

However, not all of the bases had surrendered, not all of the planets free, and not all of the commanders weakened by the news of their emperor’s demise.

Stepping forward, Kolivan cleared his throat and spoke, “There will be a bloodthirsty battle for the throne.”

“Kral Zera,” another Blade of Marmora member added.

“Yes,” Kolivan nodded, arms crossing as he addressed Allura. “However with the death of Haggar and the druids, the komar cannot be used to harvest quintessence, which greatly diminishes the force of the Galra Empire even if a corrupt leader claims the throne.”

“The komar,” Allura questioned, fingers clenching at her sides.

“The bolt of energy that struck the blue lion prior to,” and Kolivan didn’t finish the statement.

Purple like lightning as it enveloped the blue lion, consuming and dangerous and rendering Blue defenseless against the ion cannons that sheared off her jaw, killing her pilot. The komar that had struck him in empty space, that had stolen his breath and knocked him unconscious.

Swallowing harshly, Keith shifted in his seat, feeling the piece of the blue lion that was buried in his pocket dig into his hip.

Allura quickly spoke, directing the conversation away from the loss that had weighed their shoulders and settled around them like a fine layer of dust.

She paraded around minor technicalities, directing their attention here and there until Kolivan dismissed the other Blades and exhaustion hung heavy on their eyelashes. Reluctantly she had to ask about funeral details, her hands clenched so tightly around the control panel that the metal creaked. Hunk had placed Lance’s body in a cryopod that would prevent his body from rotting - oh god, _rotting_ \- until they reached Earth.

The Yellow Paladin sat in his seat, hands clasped between his thighs, head hung and, shoulders trembling. “He would’ve wanted to be buried on Earth,” Hunk’s voice broke, fracturing around the words. Behind his bangs, several tears fell to his shaking hands, “He would’ve wanted his family to see him at least one last time.”

Keith flinched at the unexpected scream from Pidge. She just turned around and thrust her bayard deep into the back of her seat, slashing through the metal with frenzied strikes. Only after the back of the chair sparked between strips of metal and leaked wires did she stop.

Shaking her head, she collapsed to an undamaged portion of the couch, bayard clattering to the floor as her head dropping to her hands.

“How long until we reach Earth?” Shiro asked, voice tight.

Keith could easily see the despair in the stiffness to his shoulders and the slightly puffiness to his eyes. It was a sensation that consumed all of them, settling deep into the marrow of their bones and weighing them down like cement.

Allura cleared her throat, unclasping her trembling hands from the console to bring up the map of the stars. “If we stop at the prison in the Quintar galaxy to receive your father and at the rebel encampment on Tragoch to receive Matt, we should reach Earth in what I believe is 70 Earth hours.”

Pidge raised her head, eyes rimmed red and sill glossy from tears. “If you can’t wait that long, I understand. I could just -”

“It’s fine, Pidge.” Hunk’s smile was a weak, broken imitation of every warm smile Keith had ever seen grace his features. “I have to think about what to tell his family first anyway.”

Allura’s eyes quickly darted to Kolivan, clearing her throat and drawing everyone’s attention once again. “However, that time was calculated considering there will be no major disruptions to the plan. And considering the new information that we were just provided about the stability of the Galra Empire, I’m unsure if we can complete this without interruptions.”

“The Blade of Marmora shall attempt to keep the remnants of the Galra Empire from disturbing your mission. However,” Kolivan’s gaze danced across all of them, settling on Keith long enough to make a shiver traverse his flesh, “your job as Paladins of Voltron is not yet complete.”

Keith clenched his fists, reminding himself that he would not let Lance’s sacrifice be for nothing. They weren’t finished, and Keith wouldn’t stop until they were.

  


**~~~~**

  


Keith had readied himself for bed, avoiding the training area, because he couldn’t forget the sounds of Zarkon choking on his sword. Slipping on a robe similar to the one that Lance always wore, he laughed when he looked at himself in the mirror, thinking about how ridiculous he looked. Lance would love to see him in this - would _have loved_ to see him in this.

Without a second thought, he was stalking through the hallways to the pod bay, squeezing the piece of the blue lion tightly in his grasp.

The room was cold and abandoned, even more uninviting then it had been when they first entered the castle with 10,000 years of dust settled on everything. The scent of Altean cleaner had permanently seeped into the walls and floor, making Keith’s nose wrinkle in disgust.

Exhaling a large sigh, Keith walked up to the nearest cryopod, tentatively peering in at Lance.

The blood that had matted his hair was gone, leaving tendrils to curl around his temples like he had just stepped out of the shower.

Part of him was convinced that Lance would stumble out any second, just like he had when Sendak invaded the castle. He had hated seeing him in there, thinking about how Lance had looked at him, the soft smile on his face that made Keith hopeful that they could be more like comrades, more like friends.

Keith was also very aware of how frightened the paladin had been after accidentally being trapped in a cryopod when the castle went rogue. How he’d talked to Keith in the hallway while they were running for Coran and Shiro. How sweat had dampened their shirts from the adrenaline and fear that coursed through their systems.

Slamming his hand on the release button, he watched the door slowly slide open.

He waited for Lance’s eyes to slowly flicker open or for him to fall forward as Allura had. He waited for the blue paladin to wink one eye open and smirk as if this was all some big prank, as if he was just sneaking out of the Garrison.

But the blue paladin didn’t move.

The _former_ blue paladin didn’t move.

“Hey,” Keith breathed, flinching at how awkward his voice sounded echoing in the empty pod bay. “I don’t know if you can hear me. Fuck, this is stupid, but I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I know what Hunk said earlier, and just - just - I’m not calm, okay?” Squeezing the fragment of Blue’s hide tighter, he glanced away from Lance’s expressionless face. “Even though we weren’t the closest of friends, I wanted to be - you know, friends with you. I - I’m sorry, Lance.”

Cursing under his breath, he turned away from the Lance and gripped the piece of metal in his pocket harder and harder until in a flash of dulled pain, the skin of his palm split. He hissed, dropping the metal to the floor as he clasped his bleeding hand. The wound wasn’t deep, slicing along the crease in his palm that ran from the base of his hand to his fingers. Papercut like cuts dotted his fingertips as he shook out the pain.

“Shit,” he mumbled, pressing his palm against his jeans to dry most of the blood before picking up the piece of metal to tuck it into his pocket.

Turning back to face Lance, he smiled weakly, reaching out to stroke Lance’s cheek as if to tether down this feeling of disbelief that had surrounded his mind like fog since the end of the battle.

The moment their flesh touched there was a large electric shock that flared in his fingertips and warped his entire body. Stumbling backwards, he grabbed at his wrist as the room spun. Axis tilting and walls undulating. Nausea tightened his stomach. His head pounded. Fingers trembling, he grappled for support as his vision distorted. His skin felt too tight and there were flashes before his eyes of scenes he could have never imagined or found the words to describe: ash and blood and a million things that made his heart shutter.

Gripping the control panel with shaky arms, Keith finally caught his breath. “What the hell,” he muttered to himself as he slowly walked back to Lance’s side.

Tentatively Keith reached for Lance’s face again, expecting to feel the same electric shock, see the same images. He flinched pulling his hand back, but nothing happened.

With less caution, Keith brushed back free strands of Lance’s hair. His hair moved easily, curling delicately around the shell of Lance’s ear. His skin was cool to the touch, almost bitter and biting against the calloused skin of Keith’s fingertips.

Keith noted how Hunk had cleaned Lance up nicely, washing the blood from his hair and the wounds on his face. But Keith refused to note how Lance was wearing the clothes that he had left Earth in -- fitting that he would finally be returning to Earth in them. They all had avoided wearing the clothes they arrived to the palace of lions in. Seemingly too precious to just wear around the palace. However, Lance wore his jacket more often than any of the other paladins wore their clothes. The hem had been worn down from frequent use and washing.

There was a relaxed set to his lips that Keith had never seen before. Lance had always been smiling or smirking or laughing or frowning. He was always so expressive - even down to his fingertips.

There was a small huff of laughter as Keith remembered the last time he and Lance had actually been civil to each other. Last week in the middle of the night with the lights dimmed and the castle as quiet as space, Keith had been stumbling back from training, only to see Lance rush out of the kitchen with a plate of Hunk’s cookies in hand. They had both blushed, embarrassed to be caught in that moment - Keith shirtless, sweaty, and positively reeking; Lance in boxers and an open robe with a dozen stolen cookies.

Lance’s face had so many expressions that night, ranging from embarrassed to shocked as he sputtered, “What’re you doing here, mullet?” Keith opened his mouth to say something, but Lance cut him off, stepping in close and shushing him, “Neither of us mentions this. Ever! Deal?”

Keith nodded and watched Lance run down the corridor to his room with a perplexed expression.

Now Keith was laughing at the pure obnoxiousness of the interaction, hands gripping the side of the cryopod for balance. Glancing at the ceiling, he closed his eyes and felt the soft trickle of tears burn down the side of his face.

He took a few minutes to breathe before he wiped away the tears and stood up straight. Lance wouldn’t have wanted him to cry over his sacrifice -- anyone but his “rival.” It was a noble sacrifice that ensured the safety of the quadrillions of organisms in the universe and the billions of people on Earth. It ensured the safety of his family, and if he knew anything about Lance, it was that he would do anything for the ones he loved.

Keith tucked a loose strand of hair behind Lance’s ear before closing the pod and leaving the pod bay, feeling the weight of the fragment in his pocket and the weight of Lance’s sacrifice settle on his shoulders.

He wasn’t sure how he was going to fall asleep tonight, but he would find a way. They had to liberate a prison camp tomorrow and rescue Sam Holt. He needed his strength.

  


**~~~~**

  


Keith woke with a blurry sense of deja vu. His neck protested his sleeping position, propped against the training room wall. A thin blanket had been draped over his chest, and he blinked his eyes open to see Pidge sitting cross legged beside him.

“I won’t tell Allura if you won’t,” she commented, not looking up from her computer.

Keith groaned and rolled out his neck. Pidge’s eyes were red rimmed, and it was obvious that she had stayed up all night. He was honestly surprised that he had gotten any sleep at all. Anxiety was already singing in his blood, and he had barely been awake for a minute.

He groaned and got to his feet, stretching out his body that had been hunched for the duration last night.

“Oh,” Pidge started, still completely focused on her computer.

“Yeah, I know.” Keith commented, and Pidge looked up surprised to watch Keith pry the training room doors open with his fingers. In a way to prevent late night training the day before their largest battle yet, Allura had locked down the training room - not realizing that Keith had already entered.

Sometime after midnight, Pidge had overridden the command and slipped in behind him.

“What’re you doing up, Pidge?” Keith grunted as he defended another attack from the gladiator.

“Could ask you the same thing,” she grumbled, positioning herself against the wall and tapping away at her computer.

Keith was about to say something else, but the robot charged forward with the intent to kill, so Keith was thoroughly distracted.

Slumping against the wall hours later, Pidge had announced that using the keypad would alert Allura that someone had been in here.

Neither of them wanted that, especially since Shiro and Coran would most definitely be on her side.

After giving Pidge a half-hearted wave, Keith slipped through the opened doors and sauntered down the hallway. The feeling of deja vu became more consuming the further he walked and the more awake he felt.

He walked into the kitchen, clothes rumpled and hair still pulled back in a messy bun, hungry for anything to settle his stomach. Hunk stood by the food goo machine, talking expressively with Lance who was hunched over the kitchen counter. There was a warm mug of the closest thing they could find to coffee cupped in Lance’s hands.

Lance.

He smiled a weak smile at Keith and by the way his eyes drooped, it was evident that Pidge and Keith weren’t the only ones running low on sleep. But how could one sleep easy knowing that the battle with Zarkon was today?

A flash of Zarkon’s head tilted to the side, blood floating in space. Drifting and splashing purple on his skin.

Keith jumped back and quickly swiped hands down his chest, breath seizing in his lungs.

Hunk raised an eyebrow, “You okay, buddy?”

Keith looked at Hunk and could hear the echo of a conversation in the back of his mind. “ _Lance wouldn’t have had to sacrifice if you weren’t just as bloodthirsty as all of the other Galra._ ” It was warbled and a poor imitation of Hunk’s voice. A made up memory from a shitty night of sleep.

_Lance._

The blue paladin stiffened, tilting his head to the side as he searched Keith’s features with eyes that were blue and expansive and alive.

“You okay, mullet?” His voice was quiet, and there was a lightness to the nickname that Keith hadn’t heard before.

“Keith?” Hunk placed a warm hand on his shoulder, shaking him out of the disorientation that threatened to take route in his consciousness.

Keith realized there were several tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, but he couldn’t pinpoint why. Couldn’t pinpoint why seeing Lance’s eyes open or the almost uncomfortable warmth of Hunk’s hands was so comforting.

“Yeah,” Keith whispered, closing his eyes and leaning into Hunk’s touch, “Just a bad dream, I think.”

Lance cleared his throat, nodding as he took another sip of his coffee. “I totally understand that. I don’t think last night was easy for any of us.” Coughing after that statement, Lance turned his gaze to his alien coffee, breathing in the scent and closing his tired eyes. There might have been the slightest blush to his cheeks and ears, but Hunk’s hand dropping from his shoulder distracted him.

Hunk squirted him a large plate of food goo and shoved it into Keith’s hands.

His smile was large, nothing like that broken imitation that sparked in Keith’s mind. “You need to eat. We all need energy if we are going to beat Zarkon.”

“We will,” Keith claimed, sitting down at the table. He wasn’t sure where the confidence in his voice came from, but he just knew they would defeat Zarkon.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed!!
> 
> A great shoutout for my beta, [Malevelynce](https://archiveofourown.org/works/search?utf8=%E2%9C%93&work_search%5Bquery%5D=malevelynce)!! Please make sure to check out all of her great work!
> 
> Come shout at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Comments and kudos _fuel_ meeeeee -- as well as making my day, so please let me know your thoughts °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°


	2. Not a Coincidence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome back to this angst fest!!
> 
> Thank you all for your lovely comments! They actually had me dying aoisdhfa;osidhf
> 
> Please go give some love to both of my artists for this bang, [Charlie](http://semishiraten.tumblr.com/post/175662808595/the-first-of-my-five-pieces-for) and [Ren](http://renstxne.tumblr.com)!!!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter!! <3

His lion rumbled with the final impact of the sword, teeth clenched and hands trembling on Red’s controls.

“Did we do it?” Pidge whispered, a disbelieving reverence in her tone.

“We can’t be sure. We have to check the body,” Shiro swallowed. “Voltron disband.”

Keith jumped from his seat and rushed down the ramp, empowered with a familiar energy, a mask of vengeance that threatened to consume him. But he paused just outside of Red’s mouth as the adrenaline in this blood dimmed to a soft hum, apprehension taking its place.

There was something so ominous about flying to Zarkon’s corpse, anxiety singing like static in his fingertips. He could almost hear the gurgle Zarkon would make when he shoved his bayard deep into the emperor’s throat and could almost see the splatter of violet blood across his visor.

A sense of deja vu overwhelmed him and tilted his sense of reality, nevertheless he ground his teeth and began soaring to the wreckage of the emperor’s mechanical suit.

Zarkon had to be killed, even at the cost of his own life.

Without any more hesitation, Keith charged and embedded his sword deep into Zarkon’s neck. And there was that gurgle, the one he had dreamed about, the final sound of someone’s life.

Ripping his bayard free, he slashed at the emperor’s armor as a scream tore from his lungs with a startling ferocity. But his heart remembered this rage, the one that threatened to consume and feasted on the sight of blood. His body was familiar with each strike, every action, every sight, like the embodiment of a nightmare.

His eyes kept drifting to the piece of shrapnel that nestled underneath Zarkon’s ribs, coating his crumbling armor in blood. So familiar. Like waking with a name on your tongue but unable to remember who you were calling out for.

With a final thrust, the sword drove right through Zarkon’s heart and even into the metal of the mechanic suit. Ending it all just like it had before.

_Before?_

“Keith!” Shiro’s voice cut through the bloodthirsty fog that threatened to devour his mind.

“Keith, he’s dead!” Lance’s voice was so familiar, laced with concern and barely contained anger. His fingers trembled around the handle of his bayard as adrenaline rapidly drained from his system. And then firm arms wound around his torso, tugging him away from the mutilated body.

Lance carefully pulled them away from Zarkon’s corpse and into open space as some of the blood splatter from Keith’s armor rubbed onto Lance’s arms and fingertips. The emperor’s head tilted to the side, pooling blood that seemed to drift with the momentum of slashed skin.

“It’s over, Keith. It’s over.” Lance’s voice was calming, a soft breeze that Keith desired to lean into.

Keith nodded, leaning into Lance’s gentle guidance, desiring nothing other than to find solace in his teammate and ignore the way anxiety still burned underneath his skin. Pulling out of Lance’s grasp, Keith gave him a weak smile.

Without looking, Keith knew that none of the other paladins had left their lions -- defending them against attacks from the Galra, a blatant reminder that the battle was not yet over.

Lance just smiled and slapped Keith on the arm. “Come on, Mullet. We still have a job to do. Let’s get back to our lions,” Lance called and started toward the waiting mouth of his lion.

An impending sense of dread settled like cement in the ventricles of Keith’s heart as he watched Lance’s retreating back. His fingers twitched as if aching to reach out, aching to do something other than wait for this foreboding to come to fruition.

There was suddenly a charge to the air, familiar enough to make his skin tingle with static as his hair stood on end.

But Lance was still so close, within hands reach. Unlike before.

Dread overwhelmed him, threatening to exhume the loss that had once carved itself a home within Keith’s chest. Clawing desperation seized his muscles and sunk teeth into his bones.

This time he would protect Lance. _This time._

With firm hands against the blue paladin’s back, Keith pushed with all his might, ensuring that Lance was out of range when the komar hit him directly.

“Keith!”

  


**~~~~**

  


Keith’s body came back online with stutters and pain. But he knew this pain -- knew the way it raced with scalding heat down his ribs and legs the second he breathed; the raw, tenderness of his skin; the soft tentative touch of Lance’s fingers as they brushed his cheek; and the blurriness of his vision and the distorted shapes before him. He knew how the pain would resonate through his skull as his arms refused to support him, head snapping against the floor of Blue’s cockpit.

The sound of Lance’s voice as it called his name was startlingly familiar, “Keith! Buddy? You awake?”

“Lance?” he croaked, eyes opening and finally focusing on the face above him. Lance’s features were painted with fear, that expressive mouth twisted in a self-blaming frown and fingers curled against his knees with bruising force.

With a soft whisper, Lance seemed to deflate with slight relief as Keith met his gaze. “Are you okay?”

“Red,” Keith mumbled, drowning in the commandeering anxiety he had originally assumed was only for the battle with Zarkon. But looking at Lance’s face, twisted with and relief, made him desperate to get back to Red. For what? He couldn’t be sure. “Need to get to Red.” His fingers twitched and shook so violently he could barely move.

Lance slowly helped him sit up. “You need to rest.” Keith grabbed a hold of Lance’s armor, preventing him from standing.

“I have to get to Red. I can’t explain --” He cut himself off, mind spinning with a thousand unexplained images: Lance in the cryopod, Hunk’s crushed features, the weight of metal in his pocket. “I need to be --”

“Keith!” Lance cut him off as his hands gripped Keith’s wrists. With a placating smile, he removed Keith’s trembling hands from his shoulders. “Please trust us to handle this.”

Turning his back on Keith, Lance strode to his pilot seat, muttering into his communicator with a voice so low, Keith couldn’t hear it over the static crackling in his ears. Lance’s shoulders were hunched over the controls as he pulled Blue into a comfortable spiral.

Keith stumbled to his feet and clutched at the back of Lance’s chair, watching the blue paladin take conservative movements. His hand slipped to rest on Lance’s upper back. The paladin jumped at the surprising touch, jerking the controls and narrowly avoiding an oncoming shot from a Galra ship.

With a growl, Lance turned his attention back to the battle and iced over ten fighter jets.

Keith trusted his team to complete this mission without him, but he couldn’t place this impending sense of doom that colored the tips of his fingers black and settled on his tongue. Stumbling several steps backward, he grabbed his helmet from the floor and jogged unsteadily out of the cockpit.

“Keith!” Lance screamed, voice echoing against the metal walls.

Keith was only drifting in space for a second before Red caught him, purring loudly in his mind -- a reflection of the dread that bubbled in his veins.

Fumbling with her controls, he shot a laser at the ion cannon aimed for Shiro’s back so the blast only skimmed the hindelegs of the black lion.

“Thank ---, Keith.” Shiro announced, voice distorted and almost consumed by the static in Keith’s helmet.

“We need Voltron now!” Keith yelled, incinerating several fighter jets with the laser on Red’s tail.

“Team, form Voltron!”

They began to fly in formation, and Keith’s hands trembled. Flashes like a forgotten dream bombarded him: blood splattered like red wine against the floor of the yellow lion’s hangar, against Hunk’s armor, against his cracked visor.

Shaking his head, he attempted to clear his thoughts, because they couldn’t form Voltron if he wasn’t focused.

Hunk’s scream crackled through Keith’s half functioning communicator, destroying any hope of his concentration. “Lance!” And Keith couldn’t tell if Hunk had only yelled it once or if the crackling had drowned out any of his other cries.

Like a strike of lightning, the komar enveloped the blue lion.

It was everything Keith’s nightmares had whispered to him: Blue’s eyes lost any recognition or gleam, and her legs stuttered as if Lance was flailing or attempting to regain control.

Keith flinched at the escalating sound of static in his helmet, or was it the distorted sounds of Lance’s screams? Blue floated in space, still and eyes vacant.

Pidge whispered, “Lance?” Her voice was all pleading desperation.

Shiro pivoted Black, annihilating several fighter jets that attempted to use this moment of weakness to their advantage.

“There is a chance that the energy just knocked out his comms. I mean Keith’s alright after receiving a direct hit!” Hunk cried as he directed Yellow to Blue’s side.

With a spark of familiarity, the image of Blue’s jaw sheared off by an ion cannon bombarded Keith’s mind with waves of terror, loss, and a despair.

“Hurry!” he screamed into the comm, hands trembling against his controls. Unaware if the others could even hear him, he pulled Red out of formation and dove for Blue.

It was obvious that Hunk hesitated at the sound of Keith’s command, growled and half chewed off by static.

But neither Keith or Hunk were close enough to feel the force of the ion cannon as it completely dislodged the profile of the blue lion’s face. The screech of the metal echoed against Red as shrapnel pelted her hide. The pilot seat was still attached to the cockpit as blue debris floated around the lion.

Lance floated calmly in space, blood circling him like the rings of a planet. The wreckage around him orbited like moons. He was a celestial body.

He could register that his teammates were speaking, broken sobs and guttural wails. But he couldn’t hear anything, except his ragged breathing and the whispers of nightmares.

Frozen in his seat, he watched the yellow lion sweep in front of him to gently pick up Lance’s dead body and carry him to the Castle.

And with a sudden burst, the world came rushing back in a torrent of sounds and emotions Keith couldn’t hope to suppress. Tilting his head back, Keith screamed, emptying his lungs as loss carved a familiar home in his heart. Hands trembling against Red’s controls, the dread that accumulated in his stomach forced him to swallow back vomit.

With a bloodlust so familiar he could taste it, he tore through the remainder of the Galra ships. Tore through the Garla command center and set fire to Haggar and her Druids.

He felt the calming presence of the black lion, guiding him and striking pivotal areas of the ship.

When there was nothing left but spinning metal and mutilated bodies, the two lions flew back to the castle. He stepped out of his lion with a sense of dread. They had won the battle. They had defeated Zarkon. They had liberated the universe.

And yet, this sense of dread consumed him.

His helmet was clutched under one arm as he walked to the yellow lion’s hangar. He looked down at the floor, expecting to see scattered chunks of blue metal. But there was nothing to hold onto, nothing to steady himself.

Hunk sat at the open mouth of the yellow lion. There was blood smeared on the ramp where Lance had laid while Hunk flown them back to the hangar. It colored the arms of Hunk’s armor and seeped onto his folded knees.

It appeared as if Hunk had gently picked his friend off the floor, rushing to get him to a healing pod. But upon the cold touch of his skin and the amount of blood that pooled on the floor, Hunk had just sunk to his knees.

The image of despair.

Shiro kneeled in front of him, gently placing a firm hand on Hunk’s shoulders.

“Don’t you fucking tell me it’ll be okay, Shiro!” Hunk cried, arms shaking. Shiro stood and took a couple steps back, hands open and placating.

Lance was cradled against Hunk’s chest. His head was lolled over one arm, flopping with every movement of Hunk’s body. His right arm was curled against his torso while the other had been severed at the shoulder, dripping rhythmically like a poor imitation of a heartbeat. The wound was deep burgundy with a shine of white bones and still leaking veins. His legs were twisted over Hunk’s other arm, one lying awkwardly, broken in the middle of the shin, while the other seemed as to have trouble holding any shape, shattered and unfixable.

This was worse. _This was so much worse._

Keith swallowed harshly and took a step forward into the room, drawing everyone’s eyes to him. Focusing on keeping his voice steady, Keith struggled to keep his thinning composure, “The last of the Galran forces have been eliminated, Princess.”

Allura, who had been standing off to the side flinched at the sound of his steady voice. Nodding in understanding, she spoke in a voice too hushed and respectful, “Thank you Keith.”

She placed a delicate arm around Pidge, but the green paladin didn’t flinch at the touch, not even seeming to realize the Princess had attempted to comfort her.

Nodding sharply at Allura, he kept his gaze fixated on the grief painting her features, rather than on Lance’s corpse. He wanted to leave, before he saw another image that would refuse to leave his mind the way his nightmares seemed to be haunting him

But his eyes drew once again to the mutilated body of the blue paladin.

Turning on his heel, Keith marched towards the exit, stomach coiling with an embodiment of his earlier dread. Hunk’s voice stopped him. “Why are you so calm, Keith?”

“Hunk, please,” Allura began. Shiro took a step forward, but the venom in Hunk’s voice stopped them all.

“Do you not care about the fact that Lance just _fucking died_ out there?” Hunk was seething, rage contorting his voice into something Keith unfortunately recognized. Lance’s body trembled in his arms.

Keith turned slowly to meet Hunk’s gaze. The look on Hunk’s face made Keith stutter and his voice shook slightly as he answered, “I thought it would be comforting to know that we won the battle.” He paused, and Hunk’s stare only hardened as if daring him to say anything else. “To know that Lance’s sacrifice wasn’t for nothing, that it meant something.” He waved the arm that wasn’t holding the helmet in a feeble gesture as if to articulate his point.

Hunk stood and marched in front of Keith. Lance’s body was so close, reeking of blood and excrement. The yellow paladin’s arms shook and a large glob of coagulated blood and torn tissues splattered on Keith’s shoes. A small whimper sounded in the back of his throat as bile tore up his esophagus.

Keith’s eyes slowly drew over Lance’s face and the small twist of pain in the set of his mouth. It appeared as if his brow bone had been shattered, sinking into his eye cavity. It was slowly bruising, the blood settling into the tissues, soggy and cold.

“Lance wouldn’t have had to _sacrifice_ ,” Hunk growled, and Keith’s gaze darted from Lance’s eyes to the bloodshot ones of the yellow paladin, “if you had just thought about what you were doing for once in your _fucking_ life before diving into things!”

“Hunk, please stop,” Pidge pleaded, leaning into Allura’s calming touch a little more.

Hunk whirled around to face her. More blood splattered on Keith’s armor, crimson splashes on washes of deep violet Galra blood, and Keith’s knees weakened.

Pidge stiffened as Hunk straightened his shoulders. “I know that you’re thinking the same thing, Pidge. If he wasn’t a bloodthirsty Galra, none of this would’ve happened! If he hadn’t been injured we could have formed Voltron earlier, and Lance wouldn’t be --” Hunk’s voice caught in his throat, tightened and losing some of the fury that had ignited it earlier.

“If he hadn’t distracted me, I could’ve reached Lance in time.” It was more of a whisper as his head dipped to look at Lance’s face.

Silence settled between them in the space that Lance normally occupied. He would be the one to crack an inappropriate joke, winking with a confident smile on his face. They would all roll their eyes, but no one could fight the smile his laugh brought to their faces. He would shrug his shoulders as if he hadn’t done anything miraculous, as if he hadn’t just brought peace to their little pocket of space. They would relax and sigh and all of this would be normal.

Pidge took a step forward, falling out of Allura’s reach. Clearing her throat, she tapped on her chest lightly before speaking, “I -- I think I’m going to go check with Coran to make sure that the castle doesn’t need any immediate repairs.” She kept her head down as she walked past Hunk, avoiding looking at Lance at all costs.

She didn’t make it out of the hangar before she started running, breath catching in her chest.

“I think we each need to take the time to analyze this in our own way. Okay?” Shiro began, eyes darting to Allura for confirmation. She nodded slightly, brushing a strand of hair over her shoulder.

Hunk didn’t move, but his shoulders trembled -- Lance’s dead weight heavy in his arms. Keith closed his eyes, attempting to ignore Hunk’s strangled breaths and the cut off sobs.

Allura took several steps towards Hunk, placing a calming hand on his shoulder. The yellow paladin stuttered, knees faltering. Keith quickly caught his elbow, helping to keep him steady.

“You got him?” Keith whispered to Hunk.

Growling, Hunk turned sharply accidently hitting Keith in the chest with Lance’s broken legs. Keith instinctually jumped back several feet.

He could almost see the warping of his vision and feel the shock of electricity under his skin. The smells and sights he saw when he had touched Lance in the cryopod all those hours ago, confined to his nightmares. The gunpowder and ash. The fires and blood. The things he could only account to a dream.

The yellow paladin took a step toward the hangar door, following Allura’s gentle cajoling, directing him out of the room that smelled of blood and already rotting flesh. But Hunk stopped, eyes fixated on Lance’s features. His voice was strong when he spoke, “You couldn’t be bothered to be around him when he was alive. So don’t pretend that you like him now just because he’s dead.”

“That’s enough!” Shiro snapped, placing a firm hand on Keith’s shoulder as if to hold him back from fighting. An inclination that he didn’t have, but Shiro’s touch was steadying, so Keith leaned into the weight.

But Hunk was right. Keith didn’t spend much time individually with any member of the team other than Shiro.

Keith hung his head as Allura whispered several things to Hunk before pulling him out of the hangar.

Shiro’s hand slowly fell from Keith’s shoulder. “Keith,” Shiro began, but Keith already knew this lecture. Knew the way that Shiro would look at him and tell him it wasn’t his fault. But it felt like it. If only he had said something about his instincts earlier.

He was the red paladin, chosen because he was someone who relied on and trusted his instincts. But he had doubted himself. If he had said something, maybe it would have happened differently.

If he hadn’t been so bloodthirsty, maybe Lance would be smiling at him now. Clapping him on the shoulder and giving him that smile that he normally reserved for Hunk and Pidge. Keith would smile back and enjoy the looks on their faces as they fantasized about going back to Earth.

He would actually join in when they talked about the first foods they would eat. Maybe Lance would have even invited him over to try his mother’s homemade ropa vieja.

“Please,” Keith’s voice was weak, trembling and a barely-audible whisper, “not now.” Keeping his gaze tethered to the floor, he avoided Shiro’s imploring gaze as he walked out of the hangar, shoulders trembling and fists clenching around nothing.

  


**~~~~**

  


Keith found himself pacing outside of Lance’s room rather than joining the others in the living area for a meeting. But he could already picture how that conversation would play out -- the way that Hunk’s shoulders would tremble when he talked about burying Lance on earth and seeing Lance’s family.

Opening Lance’s door, Keith cautiously stepped inside. Guilt at invading Lance’s space crawled down his spine as he leaned against the closed door, knees weak. He took a deep breath, enjoying how the room smelled so much like the blue paladin, vanilla and cedar.

Taking a step forward, Keith started examining the room, realizing he had actually never been in Lance’s room before. There were a couple of piles of clothes by the wardrobe and a large stack of bottles cluttered by the small mirror. Keith picked up one and examined it before placing it down.

Photos obviously printed from Pidge’s phone adorned the wall next to Lance’s bed. There were photos of everyone, arranged in a haphazard way. One showed Pidge smiling above her computer with food goo on her cheeks as Hunk stood next to her with his newest creation. Another was of Coran dressed in an elaborate Unilu costume ready for their visit to the space mall. The next was Shiro sleeping on the couch, mouth open and snoring with scribbles on his cheeks as Hunk, Pidge, and Lance all crowded around for a selfie. Where the next one showed them all running with Shiro’s angry and doodled features following close behind.

There was only one picture of Lance and Keith though. It was from one of their best training days, and it was obvious that Pidge had taken the photo secretly. They were slightly blurry, but Lance’s smile was large as they high fived over a successful run through the invisible maze.

Drawing light fingers down the photo, Keith plucked it from the wall and strode from the room.

Later that night when sleep evaded him, he pulled the picture from his jacket pocket and fell asleep memorizing the happiness on Lance’s features.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to give a huge shoutout to my beta [Malevelynce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malevelynce/pseuds/Malevelynce)!! Please go check out her wonderful piece for the Voltron Supernova Big Bang, [A Boy Like That](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15155876/chapters/35147339) (mostly because I'm dying over it and it's fantastic)!!!
> 
> Come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!
> 
> I liiiive for your comments and kudos! Please let me know what you think (even if it's just screaming, because trust me, I screamed when I was writing haha) (×﹏×)


	3. Here We Go Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, my dudes!!
> 
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Keith woke with a crick in his neck and a chill traveling the length of his spine. He reached for his blanket, but his hands slipped off his chest and onto unforgiving floor. In a second, Keith’s eyes flashed open. The familiar view of the training room greeted him.

There were the delicate sounds of someone typing on a computer. He swallowed harshly as his gaze drifted beside him to see Pidge sitting crossed legged with her eyes focused solely on her computer.

“I won’t tell Allura if you won’t.” Her tone was light and there was a small smile to the corner of his lips.

Keith jumped to his feet, heart stuttering in his chest. “What the fuck?” His hands trembled, and his mind reeled attempting to grab hold of something so incomprehensible.

He rushed toward the door, ignoring Pidge’s calls for him because he already knew what she would say. Already knew that he couldn’t use the control panel to leave the room.

_He already knew all that._

He sprinted down the hallway, bare feet slapping the cool metal with the uneven beat of his heart. Slamming the kitchen door open, he watched Lance and Hunk jump in surprise.

Hunk raised an eyebrow. “You okay, buddy?”

Keith’s eyes darted to Lance, who stood hunched over the coffee-splattered countertop. The blue paladin raised an eyebrow at Keith’s aghast expression, crossing his ankles and leaning casually against the cabinets. There was a glint to his eyes and a smugness to his smile that Keith couldn’t place, but everything about Lance was so animated, so alive.

The sight of Lance’s broken body bombarded Keith’s senses: the scent of excrement and the blood that splattered on his shoes and armor, the sight of his lifeless limbs shaking against Hunk’s chest, and the sound of Pidge’s huffled sobs.

He rushed forward and grabbed a hold of Lance’s face. The blue paladin made a small noise of surprise as Keith ran his hands over Lance’s neck and chest, feeling for a pulse and relishing in the warmth from Lance’s body.

Suddenly, heated hands caught his and stopped their frantic examination.

“Keith, what’re --”

“You were dead,” Keith whispered, hands trembling in Lance’s hold as he struggled to grasp his swirling memories.

Indignant anger and the slight blush that had danced along Lance’s cheekbones faded from his features. The grip loosened on Keith’s wrists and his palms slid into Lance’s hold before they swung back to his sides. But he couldn’t feel his fingertips.

“It was probably just a bad dream.” Lance smiled a small smile, delicate and fragile, and the bags under his eyes showed that he probably sympathized with Keith.

But Keith couldn’t explain that it didn’t seem like a nightmare. It was too visceral. He knew what it felt like to brush Lance’s hair back or how his skin felt when it cold and bitter or how his features pinched with pain even after he’d died. Or how Hunk hadn’t thought of letting Lance go even while unsteady and overwhelmed with grief. How Pidge couldn’t bare to look at his body, anger and loss carving deep lines into her young features. How Allura had struggled to stay composed and be the leader she always strived to be. How Shiro had gone quiet, contemplative, almost a prisoner to his own mind.

Could Keith say something? Could he describe the way these days were spiraling together without sounding insane?

He remembered not saying anything yesterday -- could he even call it yesterday? -- he didn’t have the words for what was going on. He recalled how when he finally tried to help, it had only mutilated Lance’s body more. Only made the way Hunk held his body more disturbing. Only made the way Pidge had run away more painful. Only made bile scratch the back of his throat more desperately.

But this was all too real to be a dream. The way the scent of Lance’s room echoed in his mind, only partially masking the scent of his body as pieces of it splattered on his armor. Or the way his fingertips remembered the boiling and bubbling rage.

“That’s what I thought,” Keith fumbled grabbing a hold of Lance’s worn sleeve. “But it’s been too real.” In a second, he was pacing back and forth in the kitchen, hands flailing and words tumbling out of his mouth, “At first I thought it was just a dream, but --”

Lance cut him off with a sharp tone, “If this is because you think I can’t handle myself out there, you can kindly shut the hell up.”

Turning back to his mug, Lance took a long drag of the purple caffeinated liquid. Keith pivoted on the ball of his foot, eyes pleading with at least Hunk to agree with him.

“That’s not what I’m saying, Lance.”

“Then what are you saying?” Lance slammed his cup down on the table, and Hunk jumped at the sudden noise, splattering chunks of food goo on the ground.

“Lance,” Hunk mumbled in a warning.

“You’re not saying you think I’m so incompetent I’ll get killed by Zarkon --”

“Not Zarkon, but Haggar.” Keith fumbled for the words, marching forward so that Lance was staring down at him, eyes sparking and brow furrowed. “She has this ability to shoot out these pure bolts of energy that completely drain the energy from anything they hit. The -- the komar. And she’ll hit you with one --”

Lance snorted a huff of condescending laughter, “So I don’t even get killed by Zarkon. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Keith.”

Keith slammed his trembling hands on the table. “No! That’s not it!” There was a ferocity in his eyes and a growl to his voice seemed to surprise both Hunk and Lance. “I know things! Shiro is going to walk into this room in five seconds and ask Hunk if he started planning his celebration feast yet.”

Lance raised an eyebrow, eyes darting to Hunk’s with a look of disbelief.

The kitchen doors opened with a quiet whoosh, and Shiro strode in. His shoulders were set back and there was a small smile on his face. The anxiety Keith was accustomed to seeing in the set of his jaw was more relaxed, but the tight coil of his hands betrayed otherwise.

“So Hunk have you started planning your victory feast yet?” he chuckled, taking the plate of already prepared food goo from Hunk’s hands.

There was silence in the room, filled with tension as it settling around them. Shiro opened his mouth to speak, but Lance’s laughter cut him off, slapping the edge of the table with enthusiasm. His lips stretched into an exuberant smile as his barely curled hair fell into his eyes. Keith felt his throat tighten aware of how those lips ended up so in a cold and still grimace.

“You know, you almost had me there for a second.” Lance smiled at Keith, wiping away a stray tear from his eye.

“But I was telling the truth!” Keith was shouting, hands trembling.

Shiro’s eyes darted to Keith in concern. The atmosphere of the room finally rested on the black paladin’s shoulders. There was a disapproving set to his lips as he spoke, “What’s going on here?”

“Keith keeps saying that Lance is going to die during the fight today,” Hunk explained eyes focused on plating another serving of food goo.

“There will be no talk of death,” Shiro reprimanded, setting his plate firmly on the table with a small sigh, “We’re going to win.”

Keith opened his mouth to protest, anxiety still ringing in his blood, but Shiro’s glare cut him off. He shook his head. Hoping to clear the thoughts and the sights and smells and sounds that still felt so real.

Maybe it was actually just a dream.

Maybe he was just being overdramatic.

He took the plate of food goo Hunk handed him with a small smile. He didn’t meet Lance’s eyes for the rest of breakfast.

  


**~~~~**

  


Keith flexed his fingers in his armor, stalking after Shiro on their walk down the hallway to their lion’s.

“Shiro,” he yelled, grabbing the black paladin by the wrist. Shiro turned and smiled slightly, but his nervousness was obvious in the set of his features and twitch of his jaw. “Will you defer to my instincts today during battle? I just,” Keith stumbled over his words and finally diverted his eyes from Shiro’s all too observant ones, “I have a bad feeling about today.”

Shiro smiled placatingly, rubbing his metal hand through Keith’s hair. Jumping back with a scoff, Keith ran a hand through his hair to fix it. Shiro laughed, slapping him playful on the arm.

“Don’t worry, Keith. Everything will be fine.”

Keith could only pray that Shiro was right as he walked to his lion, preparing for a battle that felt more familiar than his shack in the desert.

  


**~~~~**

  


“Did we do it?” Pidge whispered, disbelief coloring her voice.

“We can’t be sure. We have to check the body,” Shiro swallowed, “Voltron disband.”

With a rush of deja vu, Keith sprinted down the ramp of his lion and burst free from Red. He knew that when he had attempted to help in his nightmare, it only resulted in Lance’s disfigured body; but he couldn’t just sit back in his lion.

He couldn’t sit back and watch Lance die again.

Speaking calmly in his communicator, Keith paid heed to the anxiety that hummed beneath his skin, “I’ll go make sure he’s dead. No one else leave their lions. I’ll be back in a minute.”

There were several mumbled curses, Lance’s loudest of all. Shiro’s voice rang over it all, “We trust you, Keith.”

He smiled for the first time as he ran his sword deep into Zarkon’s throat. The choked gurgling of the Galra emperor was familiar, almost like a lullaby that wanted to drag him back into a nightmare.

Bloodlust whispered in his mind, like a siren threatening to drown him at sea. Grinding his teeth, he swallowed the instinct that purred and attempted to persuade his body to move in a familiar ferocious pattern, slicing the Emperor into a mutilated corpse.

With a bit of scream, he drove the blade of his sword deep into the emperor’s heart. There was an excited tremble to his hands as he banished the bloodlust with an exhale.

“I think you’ve ensured that he’s dead, Keith.” Shiro’s voice was thick with an emotion Keith couldn’t place.

“Keith!” Lance’s voice made him turn as the sensation of phantom arms wrapped around his torso. But it was only Lance’s voice and the watchful eyes of the blue lion as she stood next to Red, protecting her from Galra fleets that attempted to take advantage while she was missing her pilot.

This battle wasn’t over.

Keith pulled his bayard from Zarkon’s armor, watching as it crumbled around torn and bloody flesh. The emperor’s head was now tilted to the side, pooling blood that seemed to drift with the momentum of slashed skin.

Swallowing harshly, Keith turned and flew towards Red. “I’m coming back.”

Suddenly, a burst of light rushed by him and struck Zarkon in the last portion of flesh that connected his head to his body. It severed. The head floated disembodied from the wire tangled body.

Keith’s eyes shot to Lance perched in the mouth of his lion, winking. “I told you all to stay in your lions!” Keith snapped, anxiety boiling in his stomach as he glanced towards the Galra command center.

“You don’t get to have all the fun, samurai,” Lance chuckled.

“That’s our sharpshooter!” Shiro called from the black lion as it finished tearing it’s jaw blade through a Galra ship, “Now everyone back to their lions so we can form Voltron.”

Rushing back to Red, Keith sat in his pilot seat and could almost feel the prickle of energy along his skin. Goosebumps dotted his flesh and his hands trembled, dread filling his lungs like helium.

But all this was too different from his dreams or premonitions, he wasn’t sure how to proceed.

He guided Red to Shiro’s side, but before he could even destroy a single fleet in his way, Hunk’s voice sounded over the comms, “Lance!”

The blue lion was consumed by the komar, energy enveloping it in greedy, purple tendrils. Lance’s scream was so piercing, Keith didn’t know how he ever confused it with static. It was wailing, only a fraction of the pain that he was enduring.

Fear flooded his system, freezing his lungs and icing his veins. Keith’s hands flew from his controls to grasp his head, fingers twitching to tear off the helmet.

Keith watched Blue’s eyes darken and felt a cry rise up in his throat, “No!

Yanking on Red’s controls, Keith pulled his lion into a dive, focusing slowly on Lance and ignoring the sense of foreboding that pulsed along with his heartbeat.

He would save Lance, nightmares or clairvoyance be damned.

The blue paladin’s screams echoed in his ears, tightening his vision until he could only see the blue lion drifting in space. He didn’t realize that Hunk darted in front of him until it was too late.

The two lions crashed into one another, sending them careening into space and farther from Lance.

“No, Hunk. Get out of the way! Lance!” Keith cried, dread expanding in his lungs and threatening to suffocate him. The sound of a charging ion cannon made him pull against Red’s controls, attempting to steady her and send her to protect Lance. “Lance,” he pleaded, “move Blue please!”

Like the sight from a nightmare, Blue’s jaw was sheared off by the force of the ion cannon. Red stilled in space as he watched in disbelief, the sounds of screeching metal and minor explosions drowning out the comforting purr of Red.

There was silence as debris and Lance’s body floated around the lion. Silence in the comms. Silence in space.

“Lance,” Hunk whispered in disbelief as he darted in without hesitation, grabbing hold of the blue paladin and soaring directly to the castle.

Pidge whimpered, “Oh god, no. No!”

“Lance, come in! That is an order!” Shiro demanded, fear constricting his voice.

“Lance!!” Keith sobbed, hunching over the controls as a familiar fury ignited in his lungs. It was a reincarnation of the ferocity he had subdued earlier, but this time, he embraced it. Allowed it to consume his mind and set his nerves aflame, charring any tears that may have caressed his cheeks.

Taking a deep breath, he screamed. Spittle flew out of his mouth, dotting the inside of his visor as he choked.

He charged forward with the Red lion, slashing through ships with a ferocity that made Shiro whisper calming words.

But Keith heard nothing. There was no static in his helmet, but he only saw the fighter jets and felt the force of their explosions. He feasted on the sight of the burning Galra empire, saiting the bloodlust but not filling the loss that had settled against the lining of his heart.

He fought and destroyed because that was all that he could do.

Lance was dead, and it was all his fault. Shiro wouldn’t be able to tell him otherwise this time.

  


**~~~~  
**

****  


Keith walked down the hallway to the yellow lion’s hangar, but he stopped in the middle. He could picture how it would play out. How after announcing that the Galra empire’s forces were defeated, the team would look at him like he was heartless, a horror in their eyes that he had only seen a handful of times before.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t care about Lance. He was his fucking teammate. But saving countless lives through one death seemed more worthy than anything else they could amount to for the rest of their lives. Victory through death.

It was quiet as he marched down the hallway, determined to confront the dreams or premonitions that he could practically taste on the tip of his tongue.

Blood was splattered across the threshold of the door.

Keith paused, wishing that the blood splatter was hunks of Blue’s hide instead, something to steady him rather than rolling his stomach. Peering through the door, he saw Lance’s body lying limply on the ground at the entrance to the yellow lion. His limbs rested in awkward positions and his head was tilted at an unnatural angle.

But he had all of his limbs. Keith breathed a small sigh of relief, because wasn’t sure if he could bare the sight of Lance’s mutilated body again.

He walked into the room, squeezing his helmet tightly under his arm, and froze at the sight. Lance may have had all of his limbs, but the right side of his abdomen had been burned away. His armor and visible skin were charred beyond recognition. Organs spilled onto the ground, soggy and spreading into a unrecognizable puddle of blood.

Horror settled like cement in his stomach as his throat dried at the sight.

Exhaling, he had to close his eyes to grasp the fraying ends of his composure.Keith began, but was cut off. “Princess, the Galra --”

“You’re a spy for the Galra empire, aren’t you?” Hunk ground out through clenched teeth, thrashing against Shiro’s hold. The black paladin was using all of his force to hold Hunk back, arms wound around the yellow paladin’s chest.

Tumbling over his own feet, Keith stumbled backward. Hunk breathed down on him, seething as bits of spittle shot from his mouth. “How else would you have known all about Haggar’s druid magic? We’ve never seen anything like that before! And yet you _knew_!” Hunk threw Shiro off of him with a snarl and clawing hands.

He reached for his bayard.

The shoulder cannon was heavy in Hunk’s grasp, forcing him to sink low in his knees as he aimed for Keith.

But Keith couldn’t move, looking at the hollowness of Hunk’s eyes and the blood that stained his armor. And the loss that surrounded his heart cried out for recompense.

With a scream, Hunk fired.

Pidge dug her bayard deep into Hunk’s back, causing him to jump with the shock. The blast only singed Keith’s arm, but he was too stunned to feel anything. Emptiness filling his lungs and draining into his abdomen.

Hunk’s seizing muscles gave out under his weight as he collapsed on the ground. His head bounced off the ground and the shoulder cannon deactivated as his grasp on it faltered.

Keith looked at Pidge who stood over Hunk with slow trails of tears carving down her cheeks. She bit her lip before she spoke, “We just lost Lance. Even if Keith is a spy, I can’t bear to lose him either.”

Hunk’s eyes stuttered closed, hair absorbing some of Lance’s blood that puddled on the ground.

“Pidge,” Allura whispered, taking a step forward, but Pidge ignored her, walking to Keith’s side.

Fear locked up his muscles as all of his instincts craved for him to give up -- that maybe he would have another change tomorrow. He huffed a laugh at that ridiculous thought as Pidge dug her bayard into his stomach and tased him into unconsciousness.

  


**~~~~**

  


He woke in one of the prison cells as Shiro pushed a plate of food goo through a slit in the glass wall. His face was set, and he almost walked away without saying anything.

“Shiro!” Keith called out, stumbling to his feet. His knees were weak and malleable as he staggered to the wall dividing them. Pounding his hands against the glass, he called out and made Shiro jump.

But the black paladin didn’t look at him, didn’t even turn. His shoulders only slumped forward more as a sign that he had heard Keith.

Shiro’s voice was a whisper that almost didn’t make it through the thick glass, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have given you the burden as a leader. It’s my fault Lance is dead.”

“No!” Keith cried out, making Shiro turn with wide eyes. Fear flashed across Shiro’s features as Keith pressed his open palms on the glass, as if he could see the Galra beneath Keith’s skin, as if he could see violet skin and razor-sharp claws. “It was my fault. I still couldn’t save him.”

Shiro parted his lips like he was going to say something, but he just nodded slightly before walking off.

“Shiro!” Keith screamed, pounding on the divide, the bandaged burn on his shoulder stinging with each impact against the glass. “Takashi!!”

But the black paladin didn’t turn around, leaving Keith to his food good and lonely cell. Ignoring the food, Keith curled against the thin cot, longing for sleep and for this nightmare to end.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!
> 
> Comments and kudos mean the wooooorld to me, and I love hearing back from all of you!! <3


	4. Weight of a Million Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thanks for tuning into this angst fest once again!!
> 
> Thank you all for your wonderful comments! _they fuel me!!_ <3
> 
> Once again, I want to give a shout to to my artists for the Supernova Big Bang, [Charlie](http://semishiraten.tumblr.com/post/175662808595/the-first-of-my-five-pieces-for) and [Ren](http://renstxne.tumblr.com)!!!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Keith woke with a crick in his neck.

“I won’t tell Allura if you won’t.” Pidge commented, not looking up from her computer.

Keith jolted from his sleeping position, scrambling away from Pidge on his hands and knees. She looked at him with a raised eyebrow, fingers momentarily stilling over the keys. Breathing heavily, Keith was trembling and frantically looking around the training deck.

“You okay?” Pidge asked, pushing up her glasses and putting a hand on the lid of her laptop.

Clambering to his feet, Keith nodded weakly, turning and sprinting through the door. He ignored Pidge’s calls as he ran down the hallway toward the kitchen.

Keith burst through the door, panting and sweating. His eyes focused on Lance who was looking at him skeptically over a mug of coffee like liquid. The steam curled in front of his face and lilting smile.

Hunk raised an eyebrow. “You okay, buddy?”

Keith flinched instinctively at the sound of Hunk’s voice -- even if it contained none of the feral rage it had yesterday. Keith’s shoulder stung in recollection of where the shoulder cannon had singed his arm.

Peering around the hands he’d raised to defend himself, he noticed the flash of hurt on Hunk’s features before he turned his back on Keith to fill a plate with food goo. Hunk smiled weakly as he offered the plate to him. Keith nodded, fighting for a smile, as he carefully took the plate out of Hunk’s hands.

“Keith!” Pidge called, bursting through the doors to the kitchen.

Silence surrounded them as Pidge stood in the threshold of the door. As she stalked forward, she seemed to take in Keith’s entire appearance: the rumpled nature of his clothes, the weathered bags under his eyes, and the nervous tapping of his fingers along his biceps.

Lance coughed quietly into his alien coffee, and Keith’s gaze darted to him. Raising an eyebrow in response to Keith’s direct eye contact, Lance parted his lips to say something. But Keith didn’t hear anything, only saw the subtle concavity of his brow bone, and the way his face contorted with agony even in death, and the way his limbs moved when weak and broken, and heard the static sound of his screams.

Flinching violently away from the delicate hand on his elbow, Keith met Pidge’s worried gaze. The electrifying shock of her bayard from when she had embedded it into his stomach still circulated under his skin. She let her hand fall to her side and smiled weakly, “You doing okay?”

Keith’s eyes darted to Lance. He opened his mouth to detail everything that had happened, but no words emerged.

He wanted to explain the way the memories haunted him, but he couldn’t tell them everything that had happened. There weren’t words to describe the way that Lance’s body smelled or the way Hunk’s vehement need to kill him still burned like bile in the back of his throat.

There was nothing left to say except words he knew full well would placate his friends.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He merely nodded, holding his plate close as he found a seat at the dining table.

No one else seemed to question it, and from the bags under their eyes, it was evident they thought Keith was just suffering from the same anxiety that had kept them awake through the night before.

During breakfast, Lance’s eyes didn’t drift to him, focusing only on the rest of the team. He was laughing and cracking jokes and threatening to throw food goo. A simple inside joke from Hunk sent Lance on a story of epic proportions, hands waving through the air as if to articulate the minute details as he spoke.

Keith watched Lance closely out of the corner of his eye, chewing on his bottom lip and struggling to ignore the bubbles of dread that lined his lungs.

Maybe if he stayed close to Lance throughout the day, he could find a way to protect him, save himself from this hell of a day, cyclical and repeating like a grotesque music box.

So Keith stayed close, but unfortunately close enough to catch Lance’s attention.

“What’s your problem?” Lance finally snapped at Keith who was walking several paces behind him. Digging his hands deep into his pockets and averting his eyes, Keith stiffened at Lance’s sudden confrontation. “Do you have something to say to me?” The blue paladin crossed his arms and stood in the middle of the hallway, irritation radiating off his skin and the hard set to his jaw.

Keith clenched and unclenched his hands in his pockets, palms sweaty and fingertips aching. His gaze took in all of Lance, wearing his olive green jacket, sleeves worn and rolling up to show slender wrists.

Like lightning across his cortexes, the shock of the memory of Lance with only one arm -- curled up against Hunk’s chest, blood and chunks of tissue splattering his shoes -- bombarded his mind.

“I just don’t want to be alone right now,” Keith confessed, shoulders hunched and avoiding Lance’s glare.

But it wasn’t necessarily true.

He almost hated being with Lance simply because he couldn’t stop seeing flashes of the dreams or memories or whatever was haunting him. He either smelled the calming vanilla and cedar scent of Lance’s room or the stench of blood, excrement, and burned flesh.

The irritation and suspicion dissipated from Lance’s features as his shoulders relaxed. There was an openness and understanding in his expression that Keith had rarely seen directed at him before. For a second, Keith thought that Lance would pull him into a hug and say that he feared for the battle too, falling into Keith’s play at vulnerability.

Lance’s fingers played with the hem of his jacket before he laughed out loud and winked, “Couldn’t get enough of the Lancey Lance, huh?” Smiling a smug version of his normal grin, he pointed finger guns at Keith’s chest.

Surprise colored Lance’s cheeks when Keith just shrugged his shoulders and averted his eyes.

“Can’t you just ask Shiro to keep you company then?” Lance’s voice was quiet, strangely harsh and biting in the hush of the hallway, so different from his confident and playful tone.

Keith jumped back at the sudden change in Lance’s voice, hearing an echo with the same tonality, “ _If this is because you think I can’t handle myself out there, you can kindly shut the hell up_.”

Keith’s eyes widened, and he shook his head as if to dislodge the nightmares from his mind. Turning sharply, he began walking away from Lance, hands buried in pockets and shoulders slumped. Maybe if he talked with Shiro, he would understand. They could make a plan, something better than just following Lance around.

“Keith, wait!” Lance called out, footsteps pounding against the metal floor as he jogged to catch up.

Stopping abruptly, Keith looked up at Lance from under his bangs. The blue paladin wore a small, self-deprecating smile, one hand scratching the back of his neck, as he mumbled, “I’m sorry. I just didn’t think you liked me all that much, so I guessed Shiro or Allura made you to hang out with me or something.”

“You think I don’t like you?” Keith furrowed his brows and straightened his shoulders. He was about an inch shorter than Lance and looked up at him with defiance. “Why would you think that?”

“So you’re saying you don’t actually hate me?”

Keith’s arms flung out, anger coloring his tone, “Why would I hate you?”

Lance fumbled his hands, lips quirking and moving with no discernible words, “Well, you never really talk to any of us besides Shiro, and you didn’t remember who I was, and you always glare at me or call me out when we’re fighting -”

Rubbing at his temple with one hand, Keith waved the other hand to cut off Lance’s babbling. There was exasperation in his movements -- had Lance really thought he hated him all this time? -- but it was tinged with a kind of remorse that threatened to roll his stomach.

Hunk’s words echoed like the aftertaste of blood, “ _Don’t pretend that you like him now just because he’s dead_.”

“I honestly don’t hate you, Lance.” He smiled weakly and tried to ignore the sight of Lance in a cryopod, cold and expressionless or the sounds of memories that played in his mind, a haunting reminder of things that acted like nightmares.

“Well,” Lance laughed and spoke in a facetious tone, “I guess I can die happy now.”

In a flurry of instinctual movement, Keith pushed Lance up against the wall, fists curled tightly onto the front of his jacket. Keith’s hands trembled as tears blurred his vision of the blue paladin’s panicked face.

“Don’t you say that. Don’t you ever say that!” Keith breathed, clenching the fabric tight enough to leave wrinkles.

The feeling of Lance’s breath against his knuckles slowly made the static in his fingertips recede and the light-headedness disappear as he released his grip. Stepping backward, Keith let his empty hands fall to his sides. His head hung low to avoid the accusatory look that he knew would be painted across Lance’s face. “I’m sorry, maybe I should be alone right now.”

He stalked down the hallway and didn’t turn back to face Lance.

The call announcing the meeting prior to the start of battle came much too soon. Lance had tried to catch his attention outside of the meeting, a look of open apology scripted on his face. But Keith just smiled weakly and walked right past.

  


**~~~~**

  


“Did we do it?” Pidge whispered.

“We can’t be sure. We have to check the body,” Shiro swallowed, “Voltron disband.”

The anxiety that crawled under his skin demanded attention that Keith couldn’t ignore any longer. Squeezing his eyes closed, Keith thought of any other way for this battle to play out, one that ended in a deathless victory. Desperation clawed at his heart and stole his breath as he cursed quietly.

Gritting his teeth, Keith didn’t move from the seat of his lion, hands tightening on the controls as he paused closest to Zarkon’s body. “I think it would be best for our sharpshooter to handle this one.”

There was a small choked noise over the comms that Lance merely brushed off as a cough.

“I’m with Keith,” Shiro announced, “Lance stay as close to your lion as possible.”

“I’ll give you cover!” Keith called, swinging Red around to defend Blue from oncoming fleets and fight jets.

Keith watched Lance out of the corner of his Red’s eyes while taking out any ships that could even think about injuring the blue paladin. Stepping out of the mouth of Blue, Lance pointed his bayard at Zarkon. Keith heard Lance take a steadying breath before four consecutive shots were fired.

Zarkon’s chest was an open, mawing wound. His head now tilted to the side, pooling blood that seemed to drift with the momentum of slashed skin.

There was no chance that the emperor still lived.

“That’s our sharpshooter!” Shiro exclaimed while Pidge cheered and Hunk made some comment that was cut off by a vomitous burp.

“Lance, get back to your lion so we can form Voltron.” Keith commanded, worry tinting his tone.

Dread haunted him, because he knew what was coming next as goosebumps prickled his skin in anticipation of the komar. Clenching his teeth, his gaze darted between Lance and the Druid base of the command center.

“Oh come on, Keith!” Lance quipped.

“Lance,” Keith growled, but he was cut off by Lance’s triumphant laugh.

“We just defeated Zarkon. At least let me have a little victory dance!” Lance shimmied outside of the mouth of his lion, laughing joyously, hip popped and bayard slung on his shoulder.

The sense of dread was so deafening he felt his stomach seize as lightning sparked at the base of the Galra castle ship.

“Lance!” Keith screamed, instinctively driving Red in between the blue paladin and the blast of energy.

Electricity ravaged his body, transforming every nerve into a conduit for scalding agony. Every muscle contracted simultaneously, threatening to tear sinew from bone and sanity from his mind. The undertone of miniscule aches of broken bones from being thrown against the rigid structure of the chair resonated with each brief inhale. And each exhale was a scream. The overwhelming pain almost took over any form of thought.

Like a gasp for air, the electricity fizzled out like carbonation in his blood. There was static in his body as his head lolled back against the seat. He had barely stayed conscious, probably because Red had taken most of the hit. Gripping as tightly to her controls as his atrophied muscles would allow, he hoped to hear a soft purr in the back of his mind.

But there was nothing. Even the comms were silent.

The light of an ion cannon drew his attention, igniting before the darkened windows of Red’s eyes. His last thought before the impact was that now he would finally feel what Lance felt.

Maybe this would finally be the end of this nightmare.

The force of the impact sent him flying from his seat. His forehead smashed against the control panel as he grappled for support. Head spinning and eyes unfocused he looked out the window.

The blue lion lay sprawled out before him, jaw almost sheared off with the force of the ion cannon’s blast. Debris scattered around her dim eyes. Lance had shielded him from the blast, thrown himself in front of the ion cannon without a second thought.

Dread overwhelmed his body, nestling close to his heart and making his breath catch.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Lance wasn’t supposed to sacrifice himself for Keith. He was supposed to live, to fight to the end of this battle and see his family again on Earth -- alive and well and smiling.

Isn’t that what Keith had been fighting for?

Cursing under his breath, Keith pulled himself to a standing position, struggling against his protesting muscles and aching bones. A small cry burst from his lips as the taste of blood settled on his tongue.

A piece of bloody metal thunked against Red’s window.

Keith stumbled to the mouth of his lion, ignoring the nausea and dizziness that threatened to knock him unconscious. “Red! Please open up, girl!”

But there was no response, not even the barest purr in his mind, as his hands frantically pried at the door. With a scream, a fingernail tore and blood soaked into his gloves, leaving streaks of red along the metal doors.

Desperation was like a physical thing taking hold of his body, tightening his muscles and blurring his vision.

”Red!” He cried out again, feeling the barest reassuring warmth at the edges of his mind. He furiously kicked at the door before stumbling forward as the ramp suddenly lowered. Thanking her, he shimmied out of the crack and propelled himself to Lance’s lion.

The others were flying around them, defending them with a ferocity that Keith couldn’t place. Was this how he’d appeared when Lance had been killed -- bloodthirsty and ravaging with teeth and claws?

Keith wished he could hear something through his comms, anything to let him hear that Lance was alright. Anything that made him feel less alone in this cycling nightmare.

Dodging debris, Keith made it to the blue lion’s destroyed cockpit.

“Lance!” Keith called, even though he knew full well the blue paladin would never hear it. Diving closer, Keith saw the full extent of Lance’s injuries.

Lance was thankfully still in his pilot seat, helmet secure and breathing -- _breathing_! Each exhale fogged the his visor, but blood splattered against the glass as he coughed. His hands pressed against his chest and fluttered around a slender piece of metal that had embedded into his armor. One leg was twisted painfully, broken and bleeding slowly.

One hand reached for Keith, bloody fingers grasping and drawing streaks along the white of his armor. Keith barely caught Lance’s gaze before his head tilted to the side and his eyes rolled back.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Lance,” Keith announced, but he was so unsure of what to do -- of how to save the paladin he had to watch die repeatedly.

Pressing fantic hands against the wound, Keith felt the blood pooling beneath the suit shift with his touch. Pain flashed across Lance’s features with a grimaced. Keith nodded, whispering, “I’ll take care of you.”

But the words were more for himself, so he tried to smile -- wanting so desperately to convey that he understood, that he would take care of Lance, that everything would be alright.

Keith wouldn’t let him die again.

Before Keith could propel them towards the castle, Lance wound his arms around Keith’s neck, pulling him into a hug and pinning his hands between them. Their visors thunked against each other. Gasping in pain and shock, Keith’s eyes widened, finally taking in Lance’s pained features -- he was crying. Soft tears rolled down his cheeks.

His lips were moving frantically, and Keith could feel the quickness of his heartbeat through each pump of blood onto his fingers. Lance’s eyes begged for him to understand, longing for Keith to hear him. With a small nod in response, Keith pressed his hands harder into Lance’s wound.

The blood was warm as Keith’s armor absorbed it, slicking between his fingers.

Lance’s eyes fluttered closed, and his lips slowed.

“Lance,” Keith breathed, pressing harder into the blue paladin’s chest. Panic threatened to suffocate him as bile bubbled at the back of his throat. “Lance! No.” His hands gripped Lance’s shoulders, shaking him as if trying to wake him.

But Lance would never wake again.

“No! Please, no!” Keith cried out as that familiar loss emptied out his lungs and dug its claws deep into the muscle of his heart.

Keith had failed.

Again.

He screamed -- head tossed back, eyes squeezed closed, and fingers digging into Lance’s armor, coloring it with bloody fingerprints. Screamed so loud the comms would’ve shattered, reduced to static. Screamed so loud that even Zarkon’s dead body would’ve shaken with the force.

But could there still be a chance? They had the healing pods, right? Altean medicine was practically magic as Pidge described it, wide-eyed and amazed.

There was a soft touch, a muted purr, at the back of his mind, a calming force that begged for apology and offered reassurance. Like an explosion, hope ignited in his chest, filling his fingertips with pins and needles and tunneling his vision.

Keith carried Lance, ignoring how lifeless he felt in his arms as he rushed them back to Red. Delicately setting Lance down behind his chair, Keith ran to the controls. The dashboard was once again lit, and Red practically vibrated with righteous anger. With gritted teeth, he steered them back to the Castle of Lions, swerving dangerously to avoid ships -- anything that could get him to the castle quicker.

Slamming his hands against several buttons across Red’s dashboard, he contacted the castle through his lion because his communicator was still eerily quiet. “Coran! Have a healing pod ready for Lance. He’s --”

“My boy,” Coran’s voice was calm, placating and delicate.

“-- dying! But the pod --”

“Keith, your paladin armor allows me to monitor your vitals.” Clearing his throat, Coran continued in a tone of voice Keith could barely recognize, “Lance’s heart stopped beating over ten doboshes ago.”

“But with the pod --”

“I’m sorry, my boy, but there’s nothing else we can do.”

Disbelief settled like ash on his tongue, filling each inhale with particles that drifted in his lungs like silt. Keith’s hands dropped to his lap, and Red came to a drift in space, almost crashing into debris from destroyed fighter jets.

“I will prepare a cryopod for preservation,” Coran began, but Keith slapped a hand down on the dashboard, silencing their connection before he could hear anymore.

Steering Red back to the Castle of Lions, the ashy taste of some undefinable regret only intensified. Red eased into her hangar, and Keith sat in his seat for a moment.

His vision swan, blurred and watery, but he shook his head. He wouldn’t cry.

With reluctance, Keith slipped from his seat and walked to Lance’s side. His limbs were lying haphazardly after all of the risky maneuvers Keith had pulled to get them --- to get them where exactly?

Lance was already dead! There was nothing else he could do.

Sinking to his knees, Keith folded Lance’s hands over his chest -- either to make the paladin more comfortable or to cover the blood that had coagulated on his chest. He gently pulled off the blue paladin’s helmet and examined his face. It was more relaxed than the other times that he had seen it, more at peace. Keith almost giggled a little and the sight of the small smirk that twisted the corners of Lance’s lips.

Tears blurred his vision as he brushed Lance’s bangs back from where they had suctioned to his forehead with sweat. Scooping one hand underneath Lance’s knees and the other around his neck, Keith lifted Lance into his arms.

Before Keith had only seen the weight of Lance’s dead body and the way his lifeless limbs shook and swayed. Or the relaxation painting his face as his head lolled against Hunk’s chest. Or how his organs spilled or blood splattered or burnt skin smelled. Or how the cold kiss of the crypopod’s touch settled on Lance’s skin.

But he had never felt the weight of Lance’s body.

He was heavy, heavier than his slender limbs portrayed, sagging and pulling against Keith’s hold. The lifeless limbs swung and constantly hit him, causing him to stumble as he walked out of the cockpit.

Lance’s injured side was pressed up against Keith’s chest. And although his heart had stopped pumping minutes ago, blood still leaked, lukewarm and soaking into his armor.

But there would always be another chance to save Lance, right?

Part of him whispered that maybe this was his last chance. Maybe he wasn’t good enough to win this battle with no casualties. Maybe he was destined to fail no matter how many chances the universe gave him.

Maybe this was fate.

Before Keith saw the rest of the team, he slowed his breathing and calmed his face to a mask of control, fists clenching against Lance’s bloody armor and making postmortem bruises in his tanned skin. But as he fought for composure, his mind was screaming and his were lungs trembling with the effort to hold back sobs.

Standing just outside the red lion, the team’s features were pinched with loss. Shiro kept a calming hand on Hunk’s trembling shoulder. Despair was carved deep into the lines of the yellow paladin’s face as he worried his bottom lip. Pidge was nestled into Hunk’s side, leaning against him for support.

Allura waited back several steps as if separating herself from the group to keep her composure. Her face was blank as if she was still attempting to grasp reality -- they had defeated the Galra that had slaughtered her people, murdered her father, and destroyed her homeland. But not without sacrifices of their own.

Hunk pulled away from Shiro and Pidge, meeting Keith at the end of the red lion’s ramp. “Oh my god, Lance,” Hunk cried out, hands trembling over the blue paladin’s body as if frantic to fix or nervous to touch. Grabbing hold of Lance’s dangling arm, he squeezed the wrist and checked for a pulse.

Keith ground his teeth, fighting the bit of caustic anger that threatened to tell Hunk the details of his conversation with Coran -- or how he knew Lance was dead just from the fading heat of his body. He could tell by the set of Lance’s jaw and the sway of his limbs and the relaxed nature to his shoulders and the half curl of his lithe fingers.

Keith felt more familiar with Lance’s dead body than his living one.

His knees wobbled, and Hunk quickly slipped his arms against Keith’s, offering to take Lance. He wanted to protest, wanted to hold on longer, wanted to do something more for Lance since he kept failing. He wanted to commit this to memory so that when he faltered next time, this would be a reminder. Another reminder of his failures and the weight against his arms and his shoulders.

But he allowed Hunk to take Lance’s body.

Keith just merely nodded before striding to exit the red lion’s hangar.

“Keith,” Hunk called out, voice dripping with tears and sorrow.

Stopping in his tracks, Keith didn’t turn to face his teammates. “I know already,” he growled out.

“What?” Hunk began, honestly confused, footsteps sounding tentatively behind Keith.

Keith turned so violently that his teammates jumped back. “I already know what you’re going to say to me. It’s my fault, because I’m just a bloodthirsty Galra,” he snapped, licking his lips and diverting his gaze to the ceiling. He blinked slowly, hoping that the tears wouldn’t fall and his voice wouldn’t crack. He was all too familiar with their cold trickle and their worn tracks.

“Keith,” Shiro breathed, suddenly by his side. His hand was cold as it gripped Keith’s upper arm, gentle and steady. “Why would you think that?”

“Because Hunk’s said it before!” Keith snapped, motioning to Hunk who stood confused and almost terrified, cradling the body of his dead best friend. Swinging his arm to point at Shiro, Keith continued, vision blurring, “And you’ll say, ‘it’s not your fault,’ like you always do. But I know,” Keith’s voice broke and his knees went weak, “I know it’s my fault. And now more than ever!”

Without another word, Shiro pulled Keith tight against his chest for a reassuring hug. Arms crushing and tight, but it provided the kind of comfort Keith hadn’t been sure he’d needed. Whatever misconceptions he had had about crying in front of Shiro before were demolished as he nestled into Shiro’s chest. His breath caught in his throat, hands clutching at the back of Shiro’s armor and searching for any kind of purchase.

His sobs were loud, wracking and all consuming, body shaking and throat raw. He could barely register small hands brushing his back or soothing words whispered before the rest of the team left the room, small reassurances passed on.

He wasn’t sure how long Shiro held him or how long he cried. He wasn’t sure what nonsense words he whispered into the unforgiving texture of Shiro’s armor. But when he finally calmed down, Shiro didn’t let him pull away, arms only tightening.

“You know it’s not your fault, right?” Shiro asked, whispered and voice thick. He let his cheek settle against Keith’s head with a small sigh. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it would be mine for not thinking of another plan or for disbanding Voltron or --”

Keith cut him off with a violent shove. Shiro stumbled back, eyes wide and surprised. Tears coursed down the black paladin’s face, catching against his scar and dripping off his jaw. He didn’t even try to wipe away.

“If it’s not my fault, then it isn’t yours either, Shiro!” Keith yelled.

“But I know more about the Galra than anyone!” Shiro shouted back, taking furious steps forward until him and Keith were almost chest to chest again. A misdirected fury, a demand to claim untethered things. “I should’ve known about Haggar’s Druid magic. Should’ve planned for it. Or at least, I shouldn’t have frozen up when I saw you get hit.” Shiro’s hands were trembling.

There was a tense silence as Keith let Shiro’s words wash over him, seeing the small guilty thankfulness and muted terror in his best friend’s eyes.

“I was never suited to be a leader,” Shiro confessed, taking a small step back from Keith. He scratched the back of his head, flinching when the metal of his Galra-given hand touched his flesh. All of his fury had faded into dejected apathy. “Maybe before Kerberos, but not -- not now. My PTSD just --” a small self-deprecating laugh as he cut himself off, “I feel like I’m fucking being haunted.”

Keith took a step forward, hand outstretched to comfort. He wanted to say something, anything to make the look of self-loathing disappear from Shiro’s face, to capture the blame and the shame and the wisps of dream-stolen memories. But Shiro flinched when he felt Keith’s touch.

His voice was a whisper as he pulled out of Keith’s reach, “Some days I’m even afraid of you.”

“I know,” Keith whispered. His hand dropped from the air, finger’s no longer catching on Shiro’s arm. Of course, he had noticed the wariness in Shiro’s posture some days, the stiffness of his crossed arms and the slight twitch of his animatronic arm. “Some days I’m afraid of me too.”

They purposefully avoided eye contact, knowing exactly what days there were referring to. The days where Keith couldn’t leave the training room, too riled up and too thirsty for battle to safely communicate with others around the castle. The days where his bloodlust gently caressed everyone’s minds when they formed Voltron. The days where his eyes jumped quickly around every surrounding as if searching for prey. The days when Zarkon’s words resonated in his mind, “ _You fight like a Galra soldier_.”

Shiro stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Keith’s head. “But I don’t want to be afraid.” His smile was soft, eyes pained and watery. “Especially not of you.”

Keith quickly grabbed Shiro in a hug. His arms were gentle at first, merely skating across Keith’s armor. But then his grip was tight as he nestled his head into the red paladin’s shoulder. Keith looked to the ceiling and exhaled deeply.

He wanted to say more, but didn’t know what -- not with the weight of a million nightmares settled within his flesh

Coran’s boisterous voice sounded through the hangar, “Ah, my boys, Allura needs us in the command room.” There was a forced smile on Coran’s face as they broke apart. Keith knew that he was just keeping up appearances, attempting to provide at least a little comfort to the paladins, loss already coloring his life.

Nodding, they slowly followed Coran down the hallway. He talked mindlessly about the repairs that the ship was going to need, and Keith was thankful for it. It allowed him to take his mind off the upcoming conversation.

There were only so many times that he could watch Hunk cry when talking about delivering Lance’s body to Earth or watch Pidge destroy the couch in deranged grief and anger.

  


**~~~~**

  


Keith’s head snapped up at the sound of a soft knock on his door. He had already prepared for bed, ready to start this day over and finally save Lance.

He padded to the door as the hem of his pajama pants dragged on the floor. Hunk stood in the threshold, one hand scratching the back of his head and the other posed to knock again. Jumping back, Hunk smiled as an embarrassed blush decorated his cheeks.

“Sorry, were you asleep?” Hunk was fumbling with his hands, “I didn’t mean to wake you up. I just didn’t think that you went to bed until late -- well, not that anyone’s going to be sleeping tonight after the battle and everything that happened.” Hunk’s voice drifted off at the end, thick and syrupy in his throat.

Keith nodded, stepping back to allow Hunk to enter. His room was rather bland, especially compared to Lance’s or the mess that littered Pidge’s. He hadn’t taken the time to decorate, not ready to be attached to another temporary place. Inhaling deeply, he could recall the calming vanilla and cedar scent of Lance’s room and the assortment of bottles that decorated his bureau. He smiled weakly at the thought.

Hunk looked around, almost as if looking for a place to sit. But when he couldn’t find one, he paced the length of the room instead. “I just wanted to say that I would never call you a bloodthirsty Galra.”

“ _Do you not care about the fact that Lance just_ fucking died _out there_?”

“I mean, you’re still the same Keith as before. It’s just genetics. You can’t really pick who your parents are, you know?” Hunk laughed slightly, pacing only pausing for a second.

“ _You’re a spy for the Galra empire, aren’t you_?”

Keith nodded, smiling as genuinely as he could with the whispers of past conversations echoing in his mind. “Yeah I know, Hunk. I was just,” but Keith let his voice trail off, eyes falling to his trembling hands, recently cleaned of blood.

Hunk stopped pacing and stood tall, finally meeting Keith’s eyes for the first time tonight. There was hurt displayed there, a sort of betrayal that Keith would think such a thing about him, “I understand, but where -- where did that idea come from?”

“ _Lance wouldn’t have had to sacrifice if you weren’t just as bloodthirsty as all of the other Galra_.”

“Not really sure.” Keith shrugged, attempting to play off the shiver that coursed over his body. “I know that Allura hated me when she first found out, and she only tolerates me now. But I am part of the race that destroyed her entire planet and all of her people.”

Hunk stepped forward and grabbed Keith by his shoulders. “She doesn’t hate you. She just needed time to adjust, and Allura doesn’t speak for all of us.” His grip softened, fingers almost massaging. “You’re still Keith.” Hunk smiled, soft and comforting.

“ _If he wasn’t a bloodthirsty Galra, none of this would’ve happened_!”

“Thanks Hunk,” Keith smiled back, ignoring the way his shoulders stiffened and jaw clenched. “Well, I’m going to bed.” His exhaustion didn’t need to be stated.

Hunk nodded and walked toward the door.

“Hunk,” Keith called out again, not even really realizing the words had left his lips until they hung heavy in the air between them, “can you tell me what Lance was saying.” He swallowed, hands clenching at his sides. “You know, right before,” he still couldn’t say it, couldn’t admit his failure, so he just let Hunk figure out what he meant.

Keith wrung his hands, still hearing fragments of Hunk’s berating voice in the back of his mind. Hunk bit his lip and cleared his throat. “He said to tell his family that he loved them, and that it was a pleasure flying with us.”

There was another heavy moment of silence as if Hunk wasn’t telling him everything. As if there had been more to Lance’s last words. That the weight of death had stilled Lance’s racing mind or brought every repressed emotion to the surface at once. There was a depth to Lance’s words that Keith couldn’t decipher through Hunk’s steady voice.

“Thanks.”

Nodding, Hunk opened the door, “Thanks, Keith. I’m really glad we talked.”

“Me too.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter!! I'll be posting both chapters 5 and 6 on Saturday, so I hope you also enjoy what I have upcoming!!
> 
> I love hearing back from you guys in your comments (◕‿◕)♡ and even if they are just screaming, I want you to know that I absolutely live for them ♡
> 
> Come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!


	5. So Be It

After waking, Keith tried talking with Shiro, explaining all of the nightmarish days with a calm tone and unclenched hands.

And Shiro listened like he always did while concern furrowed his brow, saying that this was nothing more an anxiety. Any defense was lost as Keith witnessed the fogginess to Shiro’s eyes and the clench to his hands. Simply brushing it off, Keith shrugged, playfully bumping his shoulder into Shiro in an effort to draw his mind out of memories that consumed and haunted.

But still nothing changed.

At the end of the day, Lance was still dead, and Keith was pretty sure he would wake up next to Pidge in the training room to relive this day all over again.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you all for your lovely comments! They mean the world to me <3
> 
> Please go give some love to both of my artists for this bang, [Charlie](http://semishiraten.tumblr.com/post/175662808595/the-first-of-my-five-pieces-for) and [Ren](http://renstxne.tumblr.com)!!!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter!!


	6. Dead Men Tell No Tales

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome back to this angst fest!!
> 
> Especially for this chapter, please be read the tags and be safe <3
> 
> Please go give some love to both of my artists for this bang, [Charlie](http://semishiraten.tumblr.com/post/175662808595/the-first-of-my-five-pieces-for) and [Ren](http://renstxne.tumblr.com)!!!

Keith woke with a crick in his neck.

“I won’t tell Allura if you won’t.” Pidge commented, not looking up from her computer.  
Keith didn’t move, closing his eyes forcefully. He didn’t want to wake up. He didn’t want to move and feel the familiar aching pain in his muscles. He didn’t want to look to his right and see Pidge hunched over her computer.

He didn’t want to live this day again.

But he opened his eyes and looked at Pidge as he slowly rose to his feet. “Oh,” Pidge began, catching his gaze, “don’t use the keypad unless you want Allura to know that you spent the night in here.”

Keith merely nodded and pried open the door. He flinched when he pressed his pointer finger to the metal afraid of the pain of a ripped off nail. But there was no pain. There were no remnants of yesterday, except his memories.

He wandered to the kitchen, feet drifting without thought and eyes unfocused.

“You okay, buddy?” Hunk asked.

There was a delay to all of Keith’s reactions. His head lolled to the side to look at Hunk, who raised an eyebrow in response. Concern and confusion painted his brow as he seemed to examine Keith’s features.

He nodded slowly, hoping that the others would blame his attitude on sleepiness and not bone deep exhaustion he wore like a familiar companion.

Smiling weakly, he looked back to Lance who leaned against the counter. There was a small frown gracing his features, and Keith couldn’t hope but imagine Lance’s carefree smile, the one that he normally directed at Pidge and Hunk.

“Would you laugh if you saw me in one of those bathrobes you normally wear?” Keith asked Lance, head tilted to the side.

Lance spit the alien coffee back into his cup, coughing as he slammed the mug down on the counter. He was laughing once his throat cleared. “What’s with you mullet? Why are you asking me such a dumb question?” Lance seemed to regain some of his composure, pushing his hair back and smirking, “Unless you want to model for me?” He winked, joking and overzealous as a means to make Keith smile.

And it worked. Keith smiled, something sad and burdened by the way Lance’s body was so lithe with life. “If it would make you happy, I would,” Keith mumbled, eyes not leaving Lance’s face.

Lance blushed, taking a quick step backward. His gaze quickly darted to Hunk as if for reassurance or confirmation that they both were hearing the same thing. Lance scratched the back of his neck while Keith walked and calmly took the plate of food goo from Hunk without his eyes even leaving Lance. Settling into his chair at the table, he left the blue paladin time to respond.

Rushing over to his side, Lance slammed his hands on the table next to Keith’s plate, “What’s gotten into you?”

Keith just chuckled, coughing before it grew into deep bellied laughter -- the kind of laughter that verged on insanity. Grabbing at his aching stomach, Keith attempted to swallow the giggles, but it didn’t work. Lance furrowed his brow, his lips parted in confusion with a question perched on his tongue. Keith tried to apologize, but each word was garbled by laughter.

After Keith exhaled his final chuckle, Lance raised an eyebrow in question.

“It’s nothing,” Keith huffed with amusement still coloring his voice.

Shiro had wandered into the kitchen during Keith’s laughter. There was a fragile, concerned smile on his face as he sat down across from Keith.

“It’s okay to feel nervous about the battle. I’m sure that we all are.” Shiro folded his hands and smiled reassuringly to Keith.

“I’m not nervous about the battle,” he answered, realizing that it was true. He wasn’t nervous for the battle. He was only nervous about saving Lance, but hopelessness was already settling in his lungs like smog.

He was only nervous to watch Lance die again.

“It’s not like anything I do actually matters,” Keith mumbled and shrugged half-heartedly.

Lance grabbed Keith’s hand causing food goo to spill off the spoon. “What the hell does that mean? Are you saying us saving the universe from the Galra is meaningless?”

Keith pulled his hand from Lance’s and stood so abruptly that his chair threatened to fall over. Scoffing, he strode for the door, but Lance jumped in front of him, standing with arms crossed, foot tapping, and irritation obvious on his face.

“Of course it’s not meaningless, Lance. But, I am one of those bloodthirsty Galra, right?” He didn’t mean for his eyes to dart to Hunk, but they did. The yellow paladin hadn’t moved from his position by the food goo machine, lips parted at a loss for what to say.

Taking advantage of their shock, Keith simply stepped past Lance to walk to the door, but the blue paladin’s voice stopped him. “None of us view you like that, dumbass,” his voice was a harsh mumble, his back still to Keith.

Keith felt his chin tremble, hands clenching as a means to steady himself. “And you know that I don’t hate you, right?”

Lance turned around at the sound of Keith’s voice, either surprised that Keith had heard him or that the red paladin had said such a thing. His face was open and shocked, a slight blush coloring his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

The blue paladin shook his head a little before a shit-eating grin crossed his face, “Well, I guess I can die happy now.”

Keith bit his lip as a single tear caressed his cheek. “Yeah, I guess you can.” He turned quickly and left the room only to hear Shiro shout his name.

The sound of following footsteps echoed after him, but Keith ignored them, sprinting to Red and evading his friends in the long, winding hallways. He hoped that his lion would provide solace, that maybe she would understand what was going on. Maybe she had all the answers.

She purred when he slipped into the pilot seat, pulling his knees to his chest and curling up in the chair. Opening his mind to her, he let her see everything that had happened these last few days, everything that had been haunting him.

The blood, the dread, and the hopelessness.

Her gentle purr transformed into a furious roar, vibrating through his mind and the entire castle. The hanger radiated with heat as she trembled in rage, demanding answers that Keith didn’t have.

Pulling his legs closer to his chest, Keith smiled weakly, soothed by Red’s fury.

Watching through Red’s eyes, Keith saw the the team run into the hangar, only to be immediately pushed back by the shear heat the red lion was emitting.

Shiro held his metal arm in front of his face for protection as he stumbled into the room. “Keith!”

Placing a calming hand on Red’s controls, he politely asked her to calm down. She growled slightly as if stating that she had every right to be angry. Huffing a laugh, he mumbled, “Yeah, I know girl. But I would rather you not kill my teammates before the battle starts.”

She purred a laugh in response, reigning in her anger.

The red paladin walked calmly down the ramp to the worried reception of his team. His smile was small. He opened his mouth to say something, but Allura rushed forward, “What the quiznack was that?”

“Red was a little angry.” Keith rubbed the back of his neck, fumbling for an excuse. He wanted to tell them everything. To explain how he knew the weight of Lance’s corpse, or the weight of Hunk’s hatred, or the weight of Shiro’s sobbing body, or the weight of Pidge’s skepticism. But he had already seen the way suspicion weighed their gazes, how they had questioned him and his sanity and his allegiance.

“A little?” Pidge scoffed, wiping the back of a hand through beads of sweat on her forehead.

Coran strode forward, tweaking his mustache in thought. “I’ve never seen a lion react like that.” He placed a hand on Red’s hide only to pull it back with a sharp hiss, waving it casually. “She’s still a bit hot, I’d say. But,” he folded his hands behind his back, “if my research is correct, it means that the bond between you as been very well developed, my boy. However, whatever you were sharing with her must have be monumental.”

“Would you like to share, Keith?” Allura asked. Her body language was open, arms extended and small smile on her face. It made it seem as if there was an option, her voice on the other hand made it clear that there was no alternative. It was harsh like the set of her lips on this day, only moments before the biggest battle of the universe.

Keith’s eyes darted to Lance, before he closed them and flinched at every memory that bombarded him. He involuntarily took a step back away from Lance and everything that he reminded him of.

Opening his eyes, he relished in the look of a flush on Lance's tanned skin. It was from the heat Red was still emitting, but it showed that he was alive.

"I’d really rather not," Keith finally responded, not looking at Allura. He could feel the way her gaze hardened and her jaw clenched. Keith knew that she was only seeking the greater good of her team, that today was too important to threaten because of the inconsequential feelings of a single member of the team. They needed to succeed for the sake of the universe, and Keith knew that he could do his part without confessing the way that today haunted his dreams and living nightmares.

"Keith, I don't want to push you into sharing if you aren't comfortable," Allura began, placing a hand on Shiro's shoulder as if to compel him to input his opinion and wise words. "I'm only concerned that such monumental information could hurt the team during today's battle."

Keith kept his gaze on Allura, forcing himself to ignore Lance and the way that he stiffened slightly and shifted his feet. The red paladin straightened his stance into the mold the Garrison crafted, the perfect soldier. "I promise to not let it involve the rest of the team or the outcome of the battle."

Allura nodded and left the room, Coran followed quickly behind. Keith could hear their muttered whispers as they paced down the hallway.

Pidge came up to Keith's side and punched him lightly in the side, "You know we're always here for you, right?" Her smile was bright, hiding the tentativeness in the stretch of her lips.

Keith nudged her playfully and was about to say something when Hunk's warm arm draped across his shoulders. Murmurs in a poor imitation of Hunk’s voice echoed in his mind, breathy and exhausted and cooing for him to listen through the distant fog. Stiffening, he glanced up at Hunk’s concerned face and tried not to picture the way that it fell and creased when Lance died or when he accused Keith.

"Pidge’s right! We’re always here for you, Buddy.” His smile was large as his conviction rang true in his voice. “Even after we win the battle today."

Lance winked, popping his hip to the side and holding his arms up like he was holding his bayard. "Yeah, don’t worry. You've got the Lancey Lance by your side." He made the sound effect of the gun, blowing on the imaginary muzzle as if to dust off steam.

Keith laughed, smiling brightly and feeling more whole since he realized that today would never end. "Lance, I'm not one of those damsels in distress that you need to impress." Keith lightly punched Lance in the shoulder before his eyes darted to Shiro.

Shiro's gaze was toughened, and Keith knew that after the battle was over and everything was won, he would have some explaining to do. There was no escaping Shiro -- not when he could read Keith like an open book. Too bad for him that tomorrow would never come.

"Thanks," Keith smiled, crossing his arms, "I really mean it."

That made Hunk 'awe' and squeeze Keith into a back-breaking hug. The others quickly joined in, and Keith fought the urge the cry. He didn't want to lose this feeling, didn't want to wake up again in the same day and lose this endless support his teammates were giving him.

He would do anything to keep them safe.

However he had faltered in his mission to save Lance this morning, it was gone the second he felt Lance's soft fingers wind around his back. The hug was tight and warm. Keith let his head loll back against Lance's shoulder, sighing heavily.

Yeah, he would do anything to keep this.

  


**~~~~**

  


“Did we do it?” Pidge whispered, asking what they were all wondering.

“We can’t be sure. We have to check the body,” Shiro swallowed, “Voltron disband.”

"Wait," Keith cried out, enjoying the closeness of their minds and the echo of the warm hug they shared earlier, "we shouldn't disband Voltron. We'll be too vulnerable. Use the shoulder cannon to incinerate his body." Keith commanded, unaware of where this new found determination came from.

It could have been for the supportive caresses Red was giving him. Or the way he had never felt closer to his teammates through Voltron’s bond, they were the softest whisper in the back of his mind, the kind of presence Keith could describe like the linger of taste upon his tongue. When focusing on the bond, he could sense their emotions so distinctly it was almost like hearing a transcript of their thoughts; it was a sensation that took awhile to get accustomed to.

There was a small cough in the silence of deliberation. "I'm with Keith," Lance added, positioning his lion for a better stance when using the shoulder cannon.

“Hunk, shoulder cannon,” Shiro declared.

Without another word, Hunk inserted his bayard and activated the shoulder cannon. The weight of the large gun was burdensome on his lion even as Green supported the muzzle of the cannon.

"Let’s incinerate this bastard!" Shiro shouted, pushing Voltron forward.

A singular large blast of energy fired from the canon, hitting the clever open area of the mechanic suit. A huge explosion consumed the coffin Zarkon once laid. When the smoke and debris had cleared, Keith saw how the metal was charred black, and there was nothing in the twisted wires except for bits of severed armor and flesh.

"We did it," Pidge whispered, almost reverent, and the team joined in a cheer. Keith felt himself smiling without the threat of the spiraling anger that had consumed him every time he personally killed Zarkon -- no gurgle around the blade of his sword or slashed open skin.

He smiled and let himself hope.

Hunk almost deactivated the shoulder cannon, but he shouted, "Let’s use the shoulder cannon to take out as many fleets as possible."

"Trying to prove something, Hunk?" Keith joked, smiling to himself as he braced Red for another blast.

“Guns will always be superior, Keith,” Lance joked playfully.

The hope that bubbled in his blood was contagious. He had never gotten this far. They had never been able to form Voltron once they had disbanded, but here they were: Zarkon was dead, and Voltron was formed.

They were unstoppable.

Hunk laughed, and Shiro gave the order to fire on several oncoming fleets. Keith watched them explode with a kind of unrepeatable giddiness.

There was only a prickle of warning along his skin before the devouring energy of the komar struck Voltron directly.

The electricity sung through his blood and vibrated against his bones. His knees flailed into the dashboard and his head repeatedly slammed the back of his chair, causing echoes of pain to ripple across his nerves. The fire of burning nerves scented the air as his eyes rolled back.

A chorus of screams shrieked through the comms, harmonizing with Keith’s own. Through the bond, their pain radiated in the recesses of his mind, singeing and scalding and enhancing his own agony.

After his screams had been reduced to whimpers, he could barely inhale, throat raw and lungs charred.

There was a moment of stillness when everything died: the electricity unwrapped its greedy hands from his bones, slipping out from his muscles and unwinding from his organs with a small hiss.

“Guys?” Keith whispered, throat raw and so needy for air.

His communicator was silent. Dead.

Reaching to the edges of his mind for the connection Allura encouraged them to cultivate, he grabbed hold of the faint bond that tethered them all together through the very quintessence of Voltron. Stretching out his mind to them, Keith searched.

There was a flash of green, bright and bold and trembling. And immediately after, a flash of honey yellow, calming and nervous and flaring brighter with the reassuring touch of Keith’s mind.

Keith bit back a soft sob at the sign that both Pidge and Hunk were alive and actively searching for him.

Branching farther, he saw a flash of oceanic blue, frantic and flashing and searching, spreading out so much so that the blue dimmed. And Keith stuttered a sigh at the active energy Lance emitted. Thankful, so fucking thankful that Lance was still alive.

The last to flicker to existence was deep purple against the black expanse of his mind, steady and grounding. Shiro! Shiro was alive.

A sob tore itself from his lips. Everyone was fine, and he could feel them all through the connection that only grew stronger as they focused.

Already well aware of how long it would take Red’s controls to come back online after a direct hit -- however many days go -- he reached for her controls. Pushing several buttons, he called out to her, pleading and desperate.

The komar had rendered them helpless, drifting in space like the perfect form of target practice. So there was nothing for them to do when an ion cannon shot off Voltron’s left arm.

“Pidge!” Keith screamed, feeling the flash of green flare brightly before it winked out. The green lion had been severed in two. It’s head rolled around in space, metal pieces following its path like splattered blood. “Pidge!!” Keith screeched and pulled more violently at Red’s controls.

His chin trembled and his voice was a whisper as he looked out to space, to the twirling, decapitated head of the green lion, so desperately searching for the connection between them.

“Red, goddammit. Answer me!” He pushed and tore at Red’s controls, but there was only the faint creak of the scraping metal.

Another shot shook Voltron. The left leg dangled, back charred and indented, but thankfully still attached. Hunk’s light flared with terror, frantic. Keith could feel the way Lance reacted, thrashing against their connection. He could almost hear the blue paladin’s pleading and screams as he pounded on Blue’s controls, hands pressing to the window as two shots from ion cannons pinned the yellow lion’s head between them.

One of Yellow’s eyes was gouged out in a flash of sparks. Its head was cocked to the side, metal loose and malleable, dangling from the body of Voltron.

“Hunk!” Keith cried out, reaching out and searching for that calming yellow color. But he only felt Shiro’s steady presence and the frantic energy of Lance.

“Red, please,” he pleaded, begging her as he opened his mind and showed her all of the hellacious seconds of today’s events, showed her every movement of Lance’s dead body. He begged her not to let this happen. “Please, please, please.”

But she didn’t stir.

He screamed, bloody and raw, when the next shot from a charging ion cannon bit a jagged hole through the back of the blue lion. “Lance!” Keith howlered, slamming hands down on Red’s controls.

Searching for any sign of Lance’s survival, he sobbed when he felt the tentative blue energy. Flickering and hesitant. “Lance!” Keith reached out, stretching so far it felt like he would never return to his body, so far he almost didn’t feel the impact of another ion cannon strike.

He mentally placed calming hands on Lance’s cheeks. “You’re not alone,” Keith whispered and held Lance as his energy faded. Until there was nothing to hold and the shaking of his own lion drew him back to reality.

The force of the explosion threw him back into the chair, pain radiating down every bone in his body. A strangled whimper exited his lips as clumsy hands padded against his own chest. They came back damp. His hands wrapped around a shard of red metal that buried deep into his abdomen, settling just under his ribs.

Without a second thought, he reached out for Shiro, wanting anything other than to be alone. He saw the last instance of violet light before it sizzled out. “Shiro,” Keith moaned. Stretching his mind further, he violently sought the black paladin, his mentor, his closest friend.

But there was nothing but the empty expanse of his mind and the soft hum of growing quintessence.

It was torture to helplessly watch as the Galra killed his companions -- torture to cradle Lance’s energy while he died -- but to witness the ending of Shiro’s life was a punishment he wasn’t prepared for. A kind of hell that he had experienced once, in his starched Garrison Uniform, alone and abandoned once again. A kind of hell he prayed to never experience again.

And yet --

The metal dug deeper into his stomach as he wailed, as his mind swam farther and farther away from his body, desperate and clawing for any sign of Shiro. For any lingering sign of any of his teammates.

But he was slingshotted back to his own mind, aware of the limitations, aware that there was nothing left for him to seek out.

His mind was empty, and he was wholly alone.

He rested his head back against the seat and cried. Each inhale fluttered around the shard, poisonous with each breath. Wrapping his hands tightly around the shard, he debated pulling it out and letting himself bleed out faster, to wake up next to Pidge without a drop of blood on him. But his hands faltered, losing all feeling and slowly dropping to his sides.

He tried to inhale again, but it was a weak thing like the soft breeze while standing on the porch and watching the sunset. He missed the view of the sunsets from his shack. The way the sun would color every cloud in the sky and dip along the horizon, seemingly only a handful of steps away. He missed the way sunlight felt on his skin. Lance’s smiles kind of felt like that, the sweet kiss of the sun on skin. They made you want to close your eyes and tilt your head back and just relish in the feeling.

Was he really going to die here?

He shivered at the thought. Or was that because he felt so cold?

Each inhale was a small gurgle in his chest, a soft cough only serving to splatter the inside of his visor with blood and shift the shard deeper into his stomach. A whimper sounded in his throat, a poor attempt at a prayer.

His heartbeat was quiet in his ears, the only sound he could hear. A soft purr echoed in the back of his mind, one that Keith wasn’t sure if he was imagining, too exhausted to reach for Red’s presence. But it was a comfort to think she was there, that he wasn’t alone even though he was the only one forced to repeat this day ad infinitum.

Exhaling, he finally stopped fighting for breath, stopped struggling to keep his eyes open, allowing his eyes to flutter closed.

He wasn’t sure if his life was supposed to flash before his eyes, but he remembered the tightness of the hug earlier. Longed for it really in this moment alone. Maybe if he woke again today he could feel that closeness again. The hug would be warm, so much warmer than he was now.

  


**~~~~**

  


Keith woke with a gasp, clasping at his chest. His head flew back and slammed against the wall behind him. His feet flung out and his whole body trembled. Pidge muttered a curse, slamming her computer closed in surprise.

“What the hell?” Pidge snapped, but Keith barely heard her voice over the blood rushing in his ears.

He could still feel it. The pain of the metal jutting into his stomach, digging out his organs. His lungs stuttered a breath, waiting for the piercing metal to burrow deeper into his abdomen, puncture his lungs and fill them with blood until he was drowning in it.

But there was nothing there, but his hands still pressed against his ribs, feeling nothing but his thundering heartbeat. He bit his lip, ignoring the memory of blood leaking over his fingers.

Ignoring the way it had felt to slowly lose the feeling in his toes. Pins and needles that were the only thing tethering him to his body. Ignoring the way his hands fell from the wound and his head lolled back against the comfort of his pilot’s chair. Ignoring the way his eyes stuttered closed and his lungs ached and his heart beat dimmed so that the only thing he heard was the calming purring of Red.

Ignoring the way he’d given up so fast, so quick to die, so anxious for the promise of another chance.

Pidge’s hand was cold on his chin as she pulled his face to hers. Concern lined her features as she examined her expression. Clenching her fingers, she seemed to see the fear of death that pinched his brow and widened his eyes, slackened his jaw, and sent his eyes to a distant plane.

“--ith. Keith, are you okay?”

Keith brushed her hand away sharply as he turned to the side and vomited, stomach seizing and eyes watering.

Pidge’s hands were too cold. They felt like Lance’s flesh when the cryopod had caressed him gently for hours or the way the frigid expanse of space had chilled the red lion’s cockpit as he floated in space, gasping for air.

Vomit splattered onto his clothes and seeped into his pants. One hand grasped the wall, as the other steadied him so that he wouldn’t collapse into the putrid puddle. He took several deep breaths, each inhale stinging his throat and carrying the taste of bile.

With the cautious hands of Pidge, he got to his feet and stumbled to the door. He shoved his hand on the keypad before she could say anything. He wanted to tell her that he didn’t care if Allura knew, because it wouldn’t matter tomorrow. Because tomorrow would never come.

“Are you alright? Do you want to go to Coran to see if he can help?” Her voice was pitched higher, throat constricting from worry.

Keith almost withdrew from the sound of her voice, remembering the way she had screamed into the comms -- the high pitched agony that vibrated through his memories. He saw the way the green lion’s head tumbled through space and how her presence simply vanished from his mind.

How in a flicker she was gone.

He clenched his hands. He was so goddamn sick of all of this. So sick of being stuck in this endless tumble of days.

Pulling out of Pidge’s hold, he raced down the hallway on unsteady legs. He stumbled and slid on the floor, hands catching and pushing him back to his feet. Charging forward, he pushed through the door to the command center with trembling hands.

Coran stood in front of the controls, spinning on the ball of his foot. His eyebrow raised, and he reached for the end of his mustache, “Ah, Number Four! What can I do for you, my boy?”

Keith stomped forward, pointing a sharp finger deep into Coran’s chest with bruising pressure, “You will fucking explain what the hell is going on.” Each breath was a growl against his raw throat as he watched Coran’s expression shift.

He heard Pidge stop in the doorway, breaths short from chasing him through the hallways. Paying her no mind, Keith kept his eyes on Coran. The altean delicately took hold of Keith’s hand and pulled the finger away from his chest.

“What seems to be the matter, Keith?” Coran asked, a little of his boisterous tone traded for seriousness. He met Keith’s eyes, head tilted to the side in an examining manner, and Keith could only imagine what he saw there -- the spiraling insanity and the way death pulled at the corners of his mind.

“Today!” Keith yelled, pulling out of Coran’s grasp and pacing the length of the command center. Anxiety thrumming in his blood, he crossed one arm across his chest as he bit at his nails on the other.

Pidge stepped into the room, unsure of her next step. Coran shot her a look that Keith couldn’t decipher through the bangs of his hair. He heard her running footsteps again, fading down the hallway.

Coran nodded, twirling the end of his mustache. “Is it the battle today that has you riled up like this?”

“It’s everything today. I’m fucking sick of it, Coran.” Keith flung his bangs out of his face and met Coran’s scrutinous gaze. “I don’t know how many more times I can do this.”

“Do what?”

“Live this fucking day!” Keith screamed, slamming hands down on some controls. He needed to exert his frustrations. He could feel the tension in his body, the need for blood and revenge singing a hypnotizing melody he could normally tune out.

Each breath was ragged in his chest as he watched the way Coran’s face contorted with confusion.

There was a smattering of hustled footsteps that turned to well paced steps as Allura and Shiro walked into the command center, feigning casualty. Pidge was nowhere to be seen.

“What seems to be the matter?” Allura asked, walking forward and propositioning Coran or Keith to explain.

Shiro stood directly behind Allura, stiff backed and stoic. Keith felt his breath catch. Without thought, he rushed to the black paladin’s side. He brought frantic hands to Shiro’s face, unable to hold back the watery smile. Jumping at the touch, Shiro stiffened under the unexpected contact, so unaccustomed to Keith showing affection physically.

Keith swallowed back all of the words that he wanted to say, all of the apologies and promises to try better, and focused solely on the relief that flooded his system and weakened his knees. “It’s good to see you, Takashi.”

Gently, Shiro grabbed Keith’s trembling and sweating hands and slowly pulled them from his face. His voice was steady when he spoke, “Keith, what’s going on?”

“This is,” Keith’s throat constricted as he counted, “the seventh time I’ve lived today.” His whisper was soft and almost lost under the hum of the air flow. His hands sagged in Shiro’s tightening grasp and avoid eye contact.

“I am positive it’s just those -- as you humans call them -- nerves. With all the planning and anticipation leading up to today, I feel like I have practically lived this battle too,” Coran supplied, straightening his shirt and walking towards Keith with a small smile.

Keith pulled his hands out of Shiro’s grip and snapped, “I think I would know the difference, Coran.”

Allura’s voice was calmer, smiling as she placed a relaxed hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Can you tell us what’s happened the other times?” Her eyes were analytical, but her tone and body language were open and trusting - much more so then she had been with him since they had returned from the Blade of Marmora.

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you,” he mumbled, stepping out of her grasp.

“Why don’t you hook him up to that living memory thing?” Pidge suggested, her voice echoing over the small group in the room. She stood by the threshold to the room, arms crossed and leaning against the wall. She casually pushed up her glasses, “Wouldn’t we be able see if he was telling the truth then?”

Lance and Hunk stood next to her, an addition that had gone unnoticed by Keith. Hunk fiddled with the tie of his bandana and looked like he wanted to be anywhere else in the castleship.

Chewing on his bottom lip, Lance had a hand pressed to the wall beside Pidge. His gaze never left Keith, narrowing his gaze and furrowing his brow. When Keith met his eyes, Lance’s features softened, erasing any sense of worry.

“Good question, Number Five!” Coran announced, piping up and pointing towards the ceiling as he began to explain, “Unfortunately, the living memory is based on the memory and knowledge stored in your little brain cages. Therefore if Keith truly believes these things were real, they would appear real in the living memory. So the only purpose that would serve would be to show us exactly what Keith believes has happened,” Coran paused on the word as if debating saying it, “today.”

Keith’s eyes immediately traveled to Lance with a fear that he could practically taste. It was like bile crawling up his throat and coating his tongue. He swallowed thickly, tasting stomach acid and cringing, “I don’t think you want to see what’s happened.” His gaze never left Lance as he spoke, as if he spoke directly to the blue paladin.

Allura stepped forward, “Keith,” her voice was that soft tone that he knew was a negotiation strategy she had grown up learning, “Do you mind if we run a couple tests to test your mental capability for battle?”

Every paladin’s gaze snapped to Allura. Keith’s gaze drifted to the ground, shoulders sagging and eyes closing slowly. He sighed, ignoring Shiro’s harsh whisper, “Allura, how could you insinuate that?”

“You heard him Shiro!” Allura snapped, louder than Shiro but still hushed. She didn’t care if Keith heard, “He believes he has lived today repeatedly! Does he sound mentally stable for battle?”

“But why would he lie about something like that?” Hunk’s voice was steady, “When he discovered he was part Galra, he didn’t even attempt to hide it, even when knowing the backlash it could cause.”

Keith shook his head and bit his lip. Feeling a calming hand press against his shoulder, his head snapped to the right to see Lance standing beside him, smile strong. “I agree with Hunk. I don’t think Keith would lie about something like this. We should hear him out before we send him in for clinical testing.”

Lance’s hand was warm on his shoulder. It was true. Lance’s smiles were like the feeling of sunlight. And even though the smile wasn’t genuine and a poor imitation for the natural light, it was still beautiful.

“It doesn’t matter,” Keith mumbled, “This won’t matter tomorrow. I’ll take your tests Allura.”

He pulled out of Lance’s hand, immediately missing the warmth, and stalked toward the pod bay where the cryopods served the dual purpose of healing pods.

  


**~~~~**

  


Allura stood beside him, pressing several buttons on the cryopod to change the settings before motioning for Keith to step into the pod.

Cringing slightly, he stepped into the small pod and watched the doors slide closed.

Would his skin be bitter and frozen when he next emerged? Would he feel like death?

Each breath was short, rasping against his throat as a hand slapped against his abdomen, searching for the metal shard that shredded his lungs and warped his organs. Slamming his hands against the door, he screamed for Allura, desperate to escape.

Allura watched him through the glass, hand dropping from the vitals screen as her eyes widened in shock. Leaning forward, her lips moved as if she was speaking to him, but he couldn’t hear. All he could see was the way Pidge’s mind winked out or Hunk fluttered or the way they had all died around him and he’d done nothing. He’d held Lance’s body, heavy and dripping with blood in his arms.

She smiled, pressing a single button and gas dispersed in his pod. Sticky and cloying and making his breaths slow and shallow. His fingers slid down the glass, squeaking and dragging at his skin. His eyes fell closed, the feeling of cold spreading over his skin. It started in the tips of his fingers, familiar numbness traveled through his limbs and capsized his consciousness.

It was disturbingly familiar. Like dying.

  


**~~~~**

  


He woke to the feeling of warmth soaking into his skin. Smiling slightly, he leaned into it, nuzzling his face into the soft sensation. There was a slight chuckle, a vibration that began to wake his numb appendages. He inhaled deeply and relished in the scent of vanilla and cedar as arms wound tighter around him.

His eyes flickered open to see Lance’s face inches from his own. “Good morning, sleeping beauty.” Lance smiled down at him, but it didn’t hold any of the teasing nature he was used to.

Keith’s words were a tumble, thick and foaming in his throat, “Aw, you think I’m beautiful.”

“And who’s the one clinging to me right now?” Lance’s arm jolted against him, adjusting him so that he had more weight on his feet.

“I can’t stand on my own, jackass,” Keith quipped, making no move to untwine his arms from Lance’s. The feeling of cold settling on his skin made him think of yesterday, but he buried his face against Lance’s shoulder, wanting to banish the memories and pretend that tomorrow would come.

The pod bay was cold, a bitter reminder of everything he wanted to forget. Lance’s hands were bright spots of heat against his skin that made him shiver. His skin felt tight and oversensitive after his examinations in the cryopod.

There was muted conversation, hushed and rapid. Shiro and Allura were standing in the corner of the room engaged in a whispered debate. Shiro’s arms were crossed and his jaw tight, shoulders stiff and Keith could barely hear the growl of his voice. Allura’s arms were moving preciscely as if she was trying to exert all of her irritation through movements rather than the volume of her voice.

Finally, Allura turned to Keith and snapped, “Keith, do you feel ready for battle?”

“I’ve already fought this battle six times. I’m ready for anything,” Keith mumbled, but he knew it wasn’t true. He wasn’t ready to watch his teammates die. Again. He could still feel their way their energies flicked out, and how he had desperately reached for them, clawing and searching and spreading himself too thin across a closing mental barrier.

He could still feel the way Lance’s body settled in his arms as his blood fragmented with ice and his grasping hands became tumbling and limp. The sensation burned along with the haunting smell of Lance’s blood splashed on the hangar floor.

He remembered dying and the way that he longed for it -- almost begged for it in the quiet of space.

He couldn’t do it again. But he was trying to be prepared, trying to steel himself for the battle. He didn’t want to let his team down again. He _wouldn’t_ let them down.

“See!” Allura snapped back to Shiro. “He cannot fight in this condition.”

“His scans came back perfectly normal!”

“He’ll put the mission in jeopardy!”

“And how are we supposed to fight without Keith?” Shiro barked, and if his irritation wasn’t clear enough in his stance, then it was clear now.

“I can pilot Red.” Allura stood tall, employing her royal status and upbringing. “As a royal Altean, I can pilot any lion by force. However, it would be easier if Keith had Red consent to me being a temporary pilot.”

Lance’s hands tightened on Keith, pinching and almost bruising. His voice was hushed and husky in Keith’s ear, “You okay with that?” Lance’s breath was hot against his tender skin, brushing strands of his hair to tickle his face.

Shrugging his shoulders, Keith attempted to sound complacent when the sensation of death and the weight of loss haunted him. “It won’t matter tomorrow anyway.” His eyes found Lance’s, sapphire blue and impossibly deep, “And if this saves you, I don’t mind giving up Red.”

Keith pulled out of Lance’s grip, still unsteady on his feet, as he felt Lance’s fingers almost linger against his skin. “I’ll ask Red, but you know that I can’t make her accept you.”

Allura nodded stiffly, an ounce of relief flickering across her features. But Shiro’s hand clenched, and there was a slight buzzing from his prosthetic. They followed Keith to Red’s hangar.

His footsteps became more confident as the numbness faded from his toes. With a single hand motion, he instructed them to wait while he climbed into the cockpit of the red lion.

“Hey, girl,” he spoke aloud, closing his eyes and letting his hands drape over the controls. She purred back at him, and his chin trembled. He remembered the way that she had comfortably lulled him to his death, promising to stay with him until the last moment.

Chewing on his bottom lip, he held his breath and willingly opened his mind up to Red. First, he showed her the events of today so she could understand what he was trying to do. He felt her bristle at the thought of Allura piloting her, almost tasting her dislike of the princess on his tongue.

Keith didn’t fault Allura for her concern and desire for the best outcome for this battle. If Allura needed to pilot Red for them to succeed and win the battle, then he wanted Allura to pilot Red. Without any other warning, he completely bared his memories to Red. He besieged her every detail of the last six days:

_The weight of success. The weight of a dead body in his arms, heavy and skin sagging with viscous blood. The weight of his bayard as he drove it into Zarkon’s throat, and the whimper of the choking gurgle he always heard._

_The scent of blood and death and burnt flesh and oil and slick metal and excrement and vanilla and cedar and the way it all stuck to his nostrils and haunted during sleepless nights when all he wanted to do was wake next to Pidge and pretend nothing had happened._

_The feeling of dying, and the way it carved itself under his fingernails and pried them from his flesh._

_The sound of familiar voices warped into screams._

Keith’s head lolled against the pilot’s chair. His fingers dug into the plush armrest that had broken and bruised his ribs days ago. Red was vibrating with anger, furious and seething. He wasn’t sure if she was angry because of what happened or because there was nothing she could do for her paladin.

“Will you let Allura pilot you?” Keith whispered, reverently stroking Red’s controls. He honestly didn’t want to leave her. He couldn’t imagine what being stuck in the castle and watching the battle play out would feel like. His fingers twitched at the thought of being helpless.

Was he helpless now? Unable to truly influence anything other than the outcome of an inconsequential day?

Leaving the cockpit, he clenched his hands in his pockets as he watched his awaiting teammates varying expressions. Hunk and Pidge had been surprisingly silent this entire time, huddled close to the door like they assumed they were intruding.

Shiro and Lance wore strikingly similar expressions: twisted frowns and a furrowed brow. Allura stood straight, eyes tracking Keith’s movement, but there was a tremble to her hands as she walked up to meet him at the bottom of the ramp.

“Red, agrees.” Keith smiled, placing a single hand on Allura’s shoulder. “But unfortunately she’s not too happy about it.”

“Can,” her voice broke a little, but she cleared her throat, “I speak with her.”

Keith dropped his hand, stepping to the side and motioned for her to enter. “She may ignore you for a bit,” Keith raised his voice, eyes darting up to Red’s winking eyes, “but she promised to behave.”

Allura nodded stiffly, gaze fixated on Red. Keith watched her slowly enter the cockpit before he stepped off the ramp and walked to Shiro and Lance’s side.

“Keith, you didn’t have to do that,” Shiro began, but Lance quickly interrupted.

“Dude, what the hell?” Lance’s fingers were digging into his biceps as he popped his hip, foot tapping on the floor. Anger was such a foreign expression on Lance’s features, but it was so easily identifiable in the curve of Lance’s lips that Keith was taken aback. “So you just give up your lion like that? Aren’t we Paladins of --”

“Stop,” Keith breathed, gaze downcast and fingers digging into his palm, anything to chase away the pins and needles that settled in his fingertips. “Please, just stop.”

Lance huffed, anger shifting to concern and irritation as he averted his gaze to Red. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Slowly closing his lips, Lance appeared deep in thought, like he was trying to piece together his thoughts before he presented them.

“I would do anything to keep you all safe,” Keith confessed, ignoring the cowardice that nestled under his ribs and ached with a familiar lethal agony. Nodding stiffly, Keith turned and walked out of the hangar, hearing Red purr quietly in the back of his mind.

  


**~~~~**

  


Anxiety rolled underneath his skin and bubbled in his veins as stood next to Coran in the command center of the castle, watching as the team formed Voltron. “Yes,” he cheered under his breath, relief rolling crashing over him only for an undertow of apprehension to follow.

Celebrating their small victory, they advanced and attacked Zarkon with a flaming sword and a ferocity that Keith had never witnessed. They faced him in a blinding battle of strength and fearlessness, with each impact sending ripples of energy that shook the very foundation of the castle.

In a glorious strike, the sword sliced through Zarkon, leaving his suit floating in space with sparks dancing along the severed metal.

“Did we do it,” Pidge whispered and Coran grasped at the console, fear and relief contorting his features into something so unfamiliar to Keith, so accustomed to Coran’s enthusiasm and humor.

“We can’t be sure. We have to check the body,” Shiro swallowed, “Voltron disband.”

"Wait," Keith and Allura cried out, and the same time, an echo throughout the command center. Snapping his jaw closed, Keith allowed Allura to continue, “we will be too vulnerable if we disband. Let’s finish him from here.”

The equipped the shoulder cannon, firing through the opening of Zarkon’s suit, searing his body beyond recognition. A disbelieving cheer sounded from Coran beside him as he gripped the console to steady himself.

Keith smiled, a guilty hope clawing at his stomach. Had he let Lance and the team die so many times because he was too selfish to give up his lion?

And like the scene from a nightmare, Keith witnessed the komar strike Voltron in hungry tendrils of electricity, distorting and warping the famed Defender of the Universe in harsh convulsions.

Their screams were deafening throughout the castle, chilling Keith and making bile rise in his stomach.

“No!” Keith shrieked, stepping forward and slamming his hands against the controls of the castle as if he had the power to help them. He longed for Red -- anything that could make a difference in this battle -- as he watched the light fade from her eyes.

The comms cut off, leaving Coran and Keith standing in ringing silence.

“Allura,” Coran whispered, pushing several buttons on the console with trembling fingers. “Allura, come in.”

But they didn’t hear a single word, even as the ion cannon severed the green lion from the rest of Voltron, sending Pidge tumbling into space without a sound.

“No!!” Coran cried, slamming frantic fingers against the console and attempting to fire at the fleets that stood in their way -- anything that he could do to prevent the incoming disaster. The disaster Keith was all too familiar with.

Keith had thought it was a torturous punishment to witness the deaths of his companions from within Red, holding onto the last dredges of their essences until there was nothing left but the endless expanse of his mind.

But this -- forced to watch helplessly from the command center as the Galra eliminated each of his friends, sending their lions tumbling into space like coffins down river -- this was infinitely worse. Worse because the only thing he could do now was to collect the dead bodies of his friends and place them in cryopods.

Collapsing to the ground, the impact reverberated through his knees, a grounding sensation in the waves of pins and needles that commandeered his body and rendered every function useless. He struggled for breath as tears carved paths down his cheeks, an insurmountable ache carving its home within his chest.

Coran used the console as a crutch, shoulders shaking as he used the castle to collect each drifting part of Voltron. There was disbelief in his stance, firm shoulders and clenched jaw, a determination that Keith knew was futile.

  


**~~~~**

  


Keith rolled over in his bed, haunted by the screams that echoed throughout the castle and the sight of his teammates faces frozen in the cryopods -- the faintest hint of frost on their cheeks and lacey ice twining in the strands of their hair.

Throwing off his blankets, Keith burst from his room and tucked his fidgeting hands into his pockets. The castle was quiet; the only sound was the rapid patter of Keith’s footsteps.

He couldn’t seem to settle, feet anxiously pacing the hallways and making him drift from room to room. But each one was plagued with memories of the team: playing games in the living room, laughing at how Lance gagged at Hunk’s failed creations in the kitchen, or how they cheered and celebrated when they finally beat the gladiator together in the training room.

Nowhere was safe from the grief that consumed him, whispering that only cowards refused to fight. Victory or Death. And this was neither.

Desperate for peace and comfort, he finally wandered into Lance’s bedroom and was immediately greeted by the calming scent of vanilla and cedar. Drawing light fingers across Lance’s messy sheets, he sighed. Without another thought, he climbed into the bed, rolling over to look at the pictures taped to the wall.

Drawing the blankets over his head, Keith squeezed his eyes closed and inhaled shakily. The bed smelled so much like Lance it made tears catch in his throat.

Keith nestled into the pillow and tried to forget everything else that had happened today.

That was the last time he tried to tell anyone what was happening.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this chapter!! Admittedly chapter 7 is my favorite chapter, so I promise there will be a reprieve from all of this heavy angst soon <3
> 
> Come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!
> 
> Your comments and kudos mean the world to me (°◡°♡) thank you so much for being amazing readers!!!


	7. The Light is Coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back!! This is actually one of my favorite chapters of the piece, so I hope you also enjoy (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> Please go give some love to both of my artists for this bang, [Charlie](http://semishiraten.tumblr.com/post/175662808595/the-first-of-my-five-pieces-for) and [Ren](http://renstxne.tumblr.com)!!!
> 
> As a warning, there is a suicide attempt in this chapter -- please be safe <3

Keith lost count after day twenty. The days sort of blended together, the only differentiating factor was Lance’s death. And even they began to stop varying.

It was strange becoming accustomed to the sight of Lance’s organs relaxing on the hangar floor or the sight of singed flesh or the crumple of broken bones. He stopped noticing the scent of blood and burnt flesh, so acclimated that it barely registered in his mind. It almost felt like his mind was stuffed with cotton, because he never heard his teammates wracking sobs and cries and accusations.

He was just drifting through the days, tethered to this repetitive plotline. Exhaustion settled deep within the marrow of his bones like cement.

So, he didn’t always try something different. Some days he just watched the day play out like the first time, convincing himself that maybe this was all a dream -- a vivid hallucination the electrifying energy of the komar induced.

But other days, he woke up screaming next to Pidge. Watched her flinched and beg and plead for a way to help him. But the screams didn’t stop, not until his throat was raw and he almost lost consciousness.

On one of the uncountable days after twenty, he woke beside Pidge and walked out of the training room in a haze. He placed one foot in front of the other, unsteady on his legs. He kicked off his shoes and slung off his jacket. Footsteps faltering, his feet twitched against the unbearable cold of the castle floor. He was too accustomed to sand and radiating heat of the desert, even after all of these days in space.

In the beginning, it seemed that the only way to end this cycle was to prevent Lance’s death. But maybe Keith could take fake into his own hands, crush and crumple the thread that had knotted itself around his fingers and ankles, anchoring him to today. With each repeat, it pulled him closer, suffocating him.

Lance walked bleary-eyed into the kitchen, yawning and dark bags hung under his eyes. Keith simply strode past, eyes unfocused and steps determined.

Maybe he just had to take a knife to that damn thread.

“Keith?” Lance called out to him, voice hoarse from lack of sleep. But Keith didn’t notice him, toes curling against the metal floor as he continued down the hallway.

The airlock loomed before him. He placed a hand to the glass, remembering the way that Lance had pounded on it -- slammed his fists and called out his name while the castle threatened to kill them.

Keith pressed the button, and the door slid open with an almost silent hiss. Stepping past the threshold, he smashed his fist onto another button. His eyes closed as the doors shut behind him.

This was one of the only methods he hadn’t tried yet. He hadn’t tried to forcibly end this. To let that thread suffocate him. To end it all.

He stood by the second set of sliding doors when he heard a scream. His hand was hovering over the button to release the outside doors. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Lance shocked and trembling in the hallway in those paladin pajamas he always wore. Fear constricted his features in a way Keith had only seen a handful of times, even during the endless expanse of today.

Keith smiled and pressed the release button. Lance ran forward to open the airlock doors and stop the process, but Keith couldn’t see him anymore. He was spinning in space, limbs flailing in a clawing desperation to live, instinctively fighting against the brutal conditions of space. The air in his lungs expanded and felt enormous against his fragile ribs. His muscles spasmed as the cold immediately devoured his body, crystallizing over his eyes and stealing his breath in a final exhale.

Why was death always so cold?

Keith woke next to Pidge, typical crick in his neck and the same line from Pidge, “I won’t tell Allura if you won’t.”

  


**~~~~**

  


Even outside of the training room, Keith had begun to cringe every time Pidge said Allura’s name. It reminded him too much of waking up.

  


**~~~~**

  


One day, Lance cornered Keith after breakfast when Keith had taken to wandering the winding hallways of the castle.

“Hey man,” Lance called out, and Keith paused, looking over his shoulder at the blue paladin. His eyes were bright even with dark bags hanging on the bottoms of his lashes. For every bit of brightness Lance embodied, Keith was the sheer empty expanse of space, only speckled with bright lights and harmony.

He clapped Keith on the shoulder, smile bright and almost blinding. “You doing alright?”

“I’m fine.” Keith brushed Lance off, digging his hands into his pockets and beginning to walk down the hallway.

Lance strutted in front of him, turning on the ball of his foot to walk backward in front of Keith. Bouncing with each falling step, Lance locked his hands behind his head, looking the picture of playful and casual.

“See, you say that, but you don’t seem fine.” The brightness in Lance’s tone dried into a more serious lilt, and Keith’s feet stuttered as he was pinned under that inquisitive blue gaze.  
“You didn’t really react to anything I -- that was said during breakfast.”

Keith rolled his eyes, biting back the snap that perched on the edge of his tongue: that maybe he found Lance’s jokes passable on a regular day, but after hearing them upwards of 40 times, they were pure torture.

He was still surprised he actually ate breakfast with the team because the same conversation played out every day, but the sense of normalcy kept him anchored.

He couldn’t jump out of the airlock again, unable to forget the way ice crystals had shattered along the lining of his lungs and frozen over his eyes or the way his limbs had clawed and flailed, desperate for salvation. He had woken up next to Pidge with a stifled cry, because that was honestly the last shred of hope he possessed.

But some days the desperation still lingered, cloying and drenching every fragment of a second.

Because if he couldn’t save Lance and he couldn’t die, how would this ever end?

Would it ever end?

Huffing a sigh, Keith scratched the back of his neck. “I’m just a little bit out of it today.”

“And the last couple days too?” Lance questioned, rocking back on his heels.

Keith’s eyes widened, because he couldn’t even remember what happened the day before _today_.

Lance seemed to stutter over his next words, “I didn’t mean to assume or anything. It was just that, you know --” He seemed like he wanted to say more but cut himself off with a tentative smile.

Keith’s smile was borderline broken. Turning away from Lance, Keith wandered to one of the large windowsills that lined the hallway and sat with a thud. Curling up against the crook between the wall and window, he motioned for Lance to sit down. Lance bounced awkwardly on the balls of his feet before sitting on the sill. His back was against the window, stretching out his legs and crossing his ankles. His gaze was fixed forward, counting the number of metal tiles in the hallway.

Keith brought one leg up to his chest, resting his chin on it as his gaze wandered the stars and planets beside them.

“Can you tell me what happened yesterday?” Keith’s voice was a tentative whisper. He almost wanted to pluck the request right out of the air. Wanted to take it all back with the surge of embarrassment in his chest.

But the desperation to feel the actual passage of time clung to him.

“What? So anxious for the battle you can’t even remember what you had for breakfast yesterday?” Lance goaded Keith, and Keith wasn’t sure if it was for the sake of their rivalry or if Lance was actually attempting to make Keith feel better in any capacity.

Keith’s eyes drifted from the stars to see the smirk tweaking Lance’s lips, “Or is it because when you’re around me you forget what --”

“Please.” Keith’s head rested against the window, voice thick. He squeezed his eyes closed, and whispered, “Lance, please.”

“Okay,” Lance drawled, posture stiffening and tone shifting to something Keith rarely heard. “Well, you had just gotten back from the Weblum and Hunk kept going on and on about how you’d literally had to make it fart to escape with the scaultrite.” Lance began to talk animatedly, hands swinging and eyes frequently darting to Keith’s face.

After several minutes, Keith opened his eyes and watched Lance talk. He took in the lithe movements of his fingers or how he scratched under his nose or the way his fingers held to the hem of his jacket when he was anxious. He felt the small pull of a smile on his face, genuine and unbidden and almost foreign after all of these days.

Suddenly Lance stopped talking as the casual happiness seeped from his features. Using a finger-clutched sleeve, Lance brushed away a stray tear that coursed down Keith’s cheek, fabric worn and fraying against his skin. Keith couldn’t tear his gaze away from Lance’s eyes, wide with concern that had never been directed at him before. His irises were the closest colors to the ocean that Keith had seen since their arrival at the Castle of Lions, and it made Keith want to weep harder.

_“He would’ve wanted to be buried on Earth. He would’ve wanted his family to see him at least one last time.”_

“Keith,” Lance’s voice was soft, comforting in a way that Keith didn’t know he could be. Lance was always loud and boisterous, laughing and flirting and so full of energy. “You doing okay?”

Keith closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall supporting him. “I’m fine.” He swallowed thickly, and surprisingly enough, Lance waited for him to continue, “Could you keep talking?”

He almost expected Lance to make fun of him, but the softened kindness hadn’t left his tone, “Well, I’m kind of running out of material here, buddy. I can only talk about yesterday for so long.” He chuckled softly, a sound that Keith could so easily grow accustomed to.

Keith let his head dip forward, bangs swinging in front of his eyes. He watched the way Lance swayed his feet side to side to an inaudible beat.

“Tell me about your family then.”

Lance laughed at that, wide and smiling and contagious. Keith leaned forward, to feel the radiance on his skin and enjoy the imitation of sunlight that was Lance’s smile. “That would literally take all day.”

“I have nothing but time,” Keith whispered against his hands.

He sat and listened to Lance detail every single one of his siblings, all older with no spare of children of their own. And somehow Lance was everyone’s favorite uncle. Keith raised an eyebrow at that statement, but Lance had narrowed his eyes and pointed at him. “Just wait until we get back to Earth, and I’ll prove you so wrong, mullet.”

There was no heat in his voice, but Keith could still feel the ominous nature of the words. ( _He would’ve wanted his family to see him at least one last time_ ). Keith just smiled weakly and Lance continued, talking about growing up with all older siblings and how he was the baby of the family -- how he could practically get away with anything using his puppy-dog eyes and taking advantage of his parents constant patience.

“What about you?” Lance asked, stretching out his back from sitting in one position to too long, “You the oldest?”

“I’m an only child,” Keith began, hands tightening on his knees, “but I guess, Shiro’s kind of like a big brother.”

“More like a dad,” Lance scoffed, head tilting back until it rested against the window. He scrunched his face up, “I mean, when he gets that ‘dad tone.’” Lance shivered, but his smile was broad, “Or he gives you _the look_ , and you just feel so guilty.”

Keith laughed at that, and the sound was so foreign in his mouth that he flinched. Lance’s smile was bright with a slight blush of pride on his cheeks. Brushing his bangs back, Keith didn’t fight the small smile that stole onto his lips.

“He’s always been like that.” Lance looked at Keith, intrigued with slender eyebrows raised, “Back at the Garrison, he was my mentor.” Keith fumbled with another small laugh, “The lecture he gave me when some seniors caught me in the simulator was brutal. It was so strange, because it was the first time in forever that someone had reprimanded me like that.”

Lance leaned his head back against the window. “Your dad never gave you those lectures when you were little? The,” Lance cleared his throat and began speaking in a low register with a thick accent, imitating his father, “‘Lance you represent this family. You can’t act like this. Look at your siblings. Do you see them acting like this? No.’” He laughed slightly and fell out of the accent, “Man, those were the worst.”

“My dad and I didn’t really talk much. Well, not after my mom left,” Keith confessed. The tension in his shoulders slowly unwound as he forgot about the pressures and anxiety of today. He hadn’t really wanted to tell Lance about all of this. Shiro was the only one who knew, and half of that information came from paperwork and not Keith himself.

“God, I’m so sorry.” Lance reached out a tentative hand and set it gently on Keith’s folded up knee.

Keith leaned his head against the window, gaze tracing new constellations in the stars. “I don’t really remember her. She left when I was about two.” He squeezed his eyes shut, mumbling “We don’t have any pictures or anything, but I’m guessing that’s because she was part Galra.”

Shrugging his shoulders, he chewed at his bottom lip, unsure if he wanted to continue. Glancing at the openness to Lance’s features, the rest of the story ended up spilling out, “When I was twelve I went to live with my aunt. My dad died in a house fire, and she was his only relative, I guess. And then as soon as she could sign the paperwork, she shipped me off the the Galaxy Garrison Middle School Division, and I’ve been there ever since.”

Lance and Keith just sat in silence for a minute, except for the soft squeak of Lance’s feet swaying at a faster tempo and his cracking his knuckles. It was as if he was filling the silence with as many noises as possible until he could find the words to speak.

“Thanks for telling me,” Lance mumbled. “I’m sorry if talking about my family brought up anything,” Lance just waved his hand like he was gesturing for a world before letting it drop into his lap.

“No,” Keith breathed, “I like hearing about your family.” Keith smirked a little, drawing Lance’s eyes to his, “I’m interested to hear how Veronica almost ruined Marco’s prom.”

Lance smiled and began speaking with a impassioned tone as he explained “The Prom Fiasco” as his family had dubbed it. There was this foreign tenderness to his gaze when it landed on Keith and the new relaxed nature of his shoulders and the gentle curve of his neck or the inquisitive gleam to his eyes. Lance’s hands did all the talking, and Keith wished that he could stay in _this_ moment forever.

But, nothing good can stay.

As every day had ended in this nightmarish cycle of days, Lance died, sometimes even sacrificing himself for Keith. Pulling him harshly against his chest, they floated aimlessly in space. There was a dim smile on Lance’s face as he mumbled into his helmet communicator. The red paladin nodded and smiled and pretended like he could hear every word.

After that day, that brief respite in this tremulous repetition, he sought out Lance, longing for his stories and his carefree demeanor. He relished in the way that Lance captured his attention and made him focus solely on the story he was spinning rather than the anxiety and depression that clung to his bones.

Every day, he asked Lance for a different story, to tell him more about a specific family member -- to which Lance never questioned why Keith knew so much about his family. To tell him more about his childhood and the horrible sunburn he always received at the beach while surfing and singing around nightly campfires. To tell him about his middle school crushes and the way he used to practice pick up lines in the mirror after his first armpit hair sprouted. To tell him about his pets, his jobs, his classes, his favorite movies, music, concerts, anything that could get Lance talking for hours. Keith would provide the necessary questions, and Lance would lavish him in all the details that might seem tedious.

Keith devoured every second he could have with Lance, every moment of peace the blue paladin brought in this turmoil of a day.

And suddenly the days began to separate again, drift from the fog that had surrounded every waking and every night cuddled in Lance’s bed.

Keith began to count again, starting from zero as there were an uncountable number of days lost to the mist of depression. The count began easily as he differentiated the days between the stories that Lance weaved between breakfast and the battle. He slept every one of those nights wrapped tightly in Lance’s sheets and falling asleep to the memory of his voice and the scent of vanilla and cedar.

But with the distinction of days came the crushing impact of Lance’s death.

He couldn’t walk around in a haze anymore. He was too present, too immersed in the day and the stories Lance would tell him. It was bittersweet, a kind of pleasurable torture, to experience the reprieve Lance brought him during the day only to witness his death every night.

After restarting from day zero, Lance whispered a small prayer in Spanish on day 15, barely audible over the static hissing in Keith’s communicator.

Keith struggled for settling breaths as his stomach churned, feet unsteady as he left Red. Walking through the door to the yellow lion’s hangar, he saw Lance’s limp figure draped in Hunk’s arms and fell to his knees, legs weak and tumbling.

Unable to hold back the surge of exhaustion and failure, Keith tipped his head back and sobbed. His shoulders shook with wracking cries and his throat was raw from screaming wails.

“Keith!” Shiro shouted, rushing to his side and crushing him in a tight embrace, metal arm digging and pinching as it squeezed Keith with firm tenderness. Keith dug clumsy fingers in Shiro’s armor, searching for an anchor in this whirlwind of a day. Burying his face in Shiro’s shoulder, he hid his face from the rest of the team, enjoying the familiar warmth of Shiro’s hugs and the way he calmingly stroked his hair.

“What do I keep doing wrong?” Keith cried, words catching on a sob. He felt Shiro’s breath still in his chest, arms pulling Keith a little tighter.

“Nothing, Keith. This isn’t your fault.” Shiro’s voice was a firm whisper, soothing and completely self-assured.

Keith’s arms gave out, swinging to his lap. He whispered only loud enough that Shiro could hear him, “But Lance is dead.”

“Yeah,” Shiro mumbled, tugging Keith closer, “Lance is dead.”

“And he would’ve wanted us all to remember him for all of the life and laughter he brought to this castle.” Allura’s voice was strong, a steadiness learned through a life of royalty, carved from loss and a fierce sense of duty. Glancing over at her, Keith saw the way her chin trembled and how she attempted to hide behind a curtain of her hair.

“If he was here, he would totally be making fun of how ugly a crier Keith is,” Pidge laughed into her sleeve as she wiped away tears.

Keith pulled away from Shiro’s embrace slightly, sniffing and wiping at his nose with his wrist. “I’m not an ugly crier,” he huffed under his breath.

Shiro’s gaze traveled over Keith’s face, obviously seeing his flushed cheeks, bloodshot eyes, and the almost comical frown that controted his lips. Turning his face away from Keith, Shiro held up his hand to somehow disguise his snort of laughter.

“Shiro!” Keith cried, jokingly pushing the boy out of arm's reach.

Stumbling backward, Shiro’s laughter burst out in full force, hands clutching at his stomach. “I’m sorry, Keith. I’m sorry!” A smile that Keith hadn’t seen the likes of since before the Kerberos mission decorated Shiro’s features -- and with that smile Keith was almost okay that the laughter was at his expense.

Shiro quickly regained his composure, straightening and kneeling in front of Keith. He placed a heavy hand on the red paladin’s shoulder, “You’re not an ugly crier.” But a smile still teased at the corners of his lips.

“Oh my god, Shiro can’t even say it with a straight face!” Pidge cried out, pointing and cackling.

Soon the whole room was laughing, making Lance’s death seem a little lighter, a little less hard to carry.

Hunk stood up, Lance’s body swinging lifeless in his arms. His smile was weak as he spoke, “Yeah, Lance would’ve liked this.” His gaze was fond as it traveled Lance’s relaxed face.

That night Hunk walked into Lance’s room just as Keith was pulling the blankets back. His face was flushed pink, unaware if he was more embarrassed about the fact that he was caught about to crawl into Lance’s bed or dressed in only in boxers and a t-shirt.

The sheet dropped from his fingers back to the bed. Hunk scratched the back of his head, “Mind if I join you?”

Keith shook his head and allowed Hunk to crawl into the bed beside him. It was a tight fit, and Keith’s legs wound with Hunk’s on the small mattress. Hunk positively radiated heat, so much so that Keith refused to have the blanket draped around him. The yellow paladin folded his arms behind his head, allowing Keith to rest his head on his bicep.

He finally understood why Lance was always hugging Hunk or draping himself over him during casual nights around the castle. Hunk just emitted this calming aura, only amplified by the soft reassurance of his body.

They ended up talking about Lance for hours, voices hushed in the darkness of the room. There were points when they couldn’t hold back their laughter. Shushing each other and giggling like it was a sleepover and nothing else mattered except staying up as late as possible.

It was the first time that Keith didn’t want to fall asleep.

  


**~~~~**

The next morning, day 16, Keith approached Lance after breakfast, stopping him in the hallway outside the kitchen. Lance had a slightly suspicious crinkle to his brow.

“Teach me Spanish?” Keith asked abruptly.

Lance coughed, brow furrowing with surprise as he sputtered, “What?”

“Well, you know Spanish.” Keith scratched the back of his head, embarrassment coloring his cheeks, “So I was wondering if you would teach me.”

Lance crossed his arms as one foot tapped against the floor. “Why do you want to know? It’s not like Spanish is a popular language out here in space.” Lance raised an eyebrow, and Keith bit his lip.

“Actually, there was one passage I really wanted to know the translation to.” Lance narrowed his eyes, and Keith continued, “It went something like ‘senor, e-leave-o me alma.’”

“Oh my god, your pronunciation is terrible,” Lance cringed, uncrossing his arms. “Do you mean ‘A ti, o señor, elevo mi alma?’”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

Lance dug his hands into his pockets and continued his trek down the hallway, assuming that Keith would follow him. “It’s a bible verse meaning, ‘To you, oh Lord, I lift up my soul.’”

“I didn’t know you were religious,” Keith commented, quickly walking to catch up to Lance.

Lance shrugged his shoulders, pausing to gaze out the large windows of the castle. “My mom’s super Catholic, and it’s kind of hard to leave all that behind, even after traveling through space and meeting aliens.” He huffed a laugh, shoulders relaxing slightly.

Turning on his heel, Lance continued down the hallway, a furrow to his brow that meant he was thinking, an expression that Keith was so familiar with now.

“But even on Earth, it was difficult to stay religious when you’re bi, you know?” Lance confessed, tone barely above a whisper as his shoulders hunched.

“I can’t really relate,” Keith mumbled. “I’ve never been religious. But I sure as hell didn’t tell my Aunt that I was gay while living in her house. That wouldn’t have gone well.” With an exhale, Keith met Lance’s wide eyes. The blue paladin had stumbled over his feet while Keith was talking, searching Keith’s expression for something that he couldn’t place. Smiling weakly, Keith placed a hand on Lance’s shoulder, enjoying the warmth of his skin. “So I can only imagine what it was like for you.”

Lips parting, Lance muttered something, nodding and beginning to walk a little more slowly down the hall as silence settled between them. But it wasn’t a suffocating silence; it was contemplative, the kind that settles into the corners of the library, filled with concentration and imagination.

“But, it’s kind of reassuring when you’re fighting for your life every day. To believe in some bigger power out there.” Lance asked, turning questioning eyes to watch Keith’s reaction.

The red paladin merely nodded in response.

Desperate to continue the conversation, Keith swallowed harshly and asked, “Did you ever come out to your parents?” His gaze was fixated on his hands, picking under his nails for something to release his restless energy.

“Yeah,” Lance whispered, something so frail that Keith’s eyes darted to examine Lance’s profile. “Yeah, I did.”

Keith watched the way Lance’s eyebrows lowered, darkening his eyes and tensing his jaw. “Did they not take it well?”

“Not at first,” Lance breathed. “I know they love me, but it was hard for them to understand.” He waved his hand, lithe fingers twitching, as if to indicate the rest of the story, like Keith knew how it went, like he could almost picture it: see them gathered around the kitchen table, desperate to understand as Lance sat with arms crossed and tears streaming down his cheeks, Veronica and Marco standing gallantly by his side as they attempted to explain in Lance’s place, the yelling, the screaming, the tears.

But Keith didn’t know what that was like.

Before he could ask, Lance continued, tone forcefully nonchalant, “I honestly think they tried to forget about it until Veronica joked about this crush I had on a guy in school. And of course they overheard.” His laugh was a dark chuckle, something twisted and bitter, and by the way Lance chewed on his bottom lip, Keith could tell Lance was majorly downplaying the drama.

Finally meeting Keith’s eyes, Lance smiled wide, but it was a little forced, “I don’t think I would’ve made if it wasn’t for my siblings.”

“So, are things better?”

“Definitely better.” Lance shrugged, digging his hands into his pockets and fixating his gaze back down the long hallway. “So, did you ever come out to your parents?”

The comment shattered the illusion that Lance remembered all of their previous conversations, the illusion that they had gotten any closer, that Keith didn’t have to remind Lance every day that he didn’t hate him. This illusion that was slowly unraveling before him, Keith had been using it to contain his threadbare sanity.

Cringing, Keith closed his eyes and answered Lance, “My mom left when I was little, but my Dad died before I had the chance to come out to him.”

Lance stopped in his tracks, eyes wide and shock parting his lips. Familiar pity carved itself into the lines of Lance’s face, turning those wide oceanic eyes into tremulous storms and transforming those smiling lips into something fragile.

Keith turned away from Lance’s gaze and continued speaking, not giving the blue paladin a chance to apologize, “I did come out to Shiro though, which was absolutely terrifying. But you know how he is,” Keith chuckled, suppressing the blush at the embarrassing memory, “he patted me on the shoulder and asked if I needed the ‘safe, sane, and consensual’ talk.”

“Oh god, those are the worst.” Chuckling, Lance shook his head while a blush tinted his ears. “It’s uncountable the number of times I’d gotten that talk from the Garrison professors because they heard of my Loverboy Lance reputation.”

Keith didn’t answer, eyes simply sliding over Lance’s form, admiring those long legs and lithe fingers and high cheekbones dusted with blush. “Oh.”

“Wow, way to slut shame.”

Panic overwhelmed Keith, remembering the way Lance’s face had contorted with hatred when Keith had unknowingly poked at his insecurities before. Stuttering, he attempted to fix his mistake, but Lance’s chuckle cut him off. “I - I didn’t - didn’t mean that --”

“Keith,” Lance met Keith’s gaze, features warm and relaxed, and that smile beaming like sunshine, “it’s okay, dude. You know how kids go to college and go insane because there’s no parental supervision?” And before Keith could answer, Lance continued, “Well that kind of happened with me at the Garrison. Their rules were just so much easier to break than my parents, especially because my mom wasn’t constantly around the corner. I swear that woman’s clairevoyant.”

Lance chuckled, and that brightness didn’t leave his features, and Keith seemed to relish in how positively _alive_ Lance appeared.

“The only person I’ve ever kissed is Shiro,” Keith confessed, chewing on his bottom lip.

“ _You, what?!_ ” Lance gasped, stopping on the hallway and staring at Keith with unadulterated shock slackening his features.

Curling his lips into a twisted smile, Keith joked, “Wow, way to slut shame, Lance.”

Keith tried to walk forward and leave the conversation at that, but Lance jumped in front of him, hands outstretched and eyes still so wide Keith could see the darkened ring that surrounded his irises.

“No, no, no, no. This _needs_ an explanation,” Lance tapped his foot, both humor and curiosity coloring his tone.

“Have you seen Shiro?” Keith asked, crossing his arms and shaking his head. “He was my only friend at the Garrison, and I kind of confused platonic and romantic affection. Little to say it was the most awkward moment of my life.”

Lance tipped his head back and laughed, chest heaving with each stuttered inhale. And even if Lance ran and told the entire team that story every single goddamn time he lived this day, it would have been worth it for the expression on Lance’s features.

Clapping Keith on the shoulder, Lance steadied him with a very serious look. “It’s probably some LGBTQ right of passage. Welcome to the club, Keith.”

Chuckling and shaking his head, Keith followed Lance down the hallway, but their pace had significantly slowed.

The both walked in silence for a couple minutes, Keith’s thoughts once again drifted to the bible verse Lance had whispered. Was this the first time he had prayed before dying? Or was this the first time that Keith had heard it?

“So, you want to learn Spanish, cariño?” Lance’s smile was wide, almost devious.

“Why do I feel like you just insulted me?”

Lance laughed at that, clapping Keith on the shoulder, “Maybe I shouldn’t teach you Spanish.”

  


**~~~~**

  


Keith ran through the hallways of the Castle of Lions, Lance dangling in his arms. With each step, Lance’s legs swung against Keith’s hip. But Keith’s legs were weak, fatigued and almost hollow with adrenaline that sung in his veins.

Loss scraped desperate fingers down Keith’s lungs and clung to his heart as he watched Lance gasp for breath.

“Please, stay with me. Lance!”

Lance’s eyes fluttered open, pupils almost engulfing the dim ocean of his irises, before rolling back in his head. “¡Mantén tus ojos abiertos!” Keith screamed, shaking Lance in his arms as if that would wake him from the unconsciousness that had become so familiar to Keith.

Lance had a lazy smile on his face as he reached his hand up to brush blood fingers across Keith’s cheek. His other hand was lightly pressed against the shredded muscle and oozing organs of his abdomen.

“Keith,” Lance’s voice was strained, fingers pressing too hard into Keith’s cheek.

Keith’s breath was bursting through his lungs, and he could feel the aching impact of his sprint in his ankles. He was so close to the pod bay, close enough to save Lance, close enough to end this cyclic day.

Ignoring the ache in his muscles and in his heart, he growled as he pushed himself harder, surging forward as he hefted Lance higher in his arms.

Lance’s mouth opened, twitching blood-tinted lips. Like he was fighting for air. Like he was fighting for words. Like he was fighting for his life. “A ti, o señor, elevo mi alma,” Lance whispered, lips closing and barely moving.

“Lance,” Keith screamed, hands curling into Lance’s muscles with a force that should have made him flinch, should have bruised him and made him curse out in Spanish. But there was no reaction on that serene face. Oceanic eyes open and unseeing.

The fingertips on Keith’s cheek disappeared as Lance’s hand dropped to his stomach. Any resistance that had been in Lance’s limbs dissolved.

“Lance,” Keith whispered, but he didn’t stop running. Couldn’t stop.

Lance was so heavy in his arms, a burden that soaked his armor in blood and made his footsteps slick against the metal flooring.

Slamming his foot on the cryopod activation button, he cursed as it rose so _fucking_ slowly rose from the ground. The door dissolved and Keith harshly shoved Lance in, fumbling with the blue paladin’s limbs as they contorted inside the small space. The shoulders of the paladin armor scratched along the walls of the pod in a sound that Keith couldn’t hear over the thunderous pounding of his heart.

Desperation caught his breath, stilling his heart as the blue door reappeared, closing Lance within the pod.

A small message appeared on the screen, and Keith knew enough Altean to know what it said.

Reaching out a trembling finger, Keith clicked yes before his knees weakened. Adrenaline filtered from his system, leaving him hollow and cold, an emptiness that was gaping within him, a chasm that threatened to swallow him whole.

There was a small voice that projected from the pod, “Preparing the body for preservation.”

Keith drew his knees to his chest, fingernails biting deeply into the flesh of his calves, anything to tether himself to his own body. His mind had threatened to retreated to disappear into the recesses of his consciousness, to allow that fog of depression to consume him once again.

Shiro ran into the room with Pidge quickly on his tail. They stood in the threshold to the door, eyes wide with hope at seeing Lance within the pod.

“Keith,” Pidge shouted, darting forward. But Keith merely shook his head, and the footsteps stopped.

They understood.

Keith jumped to his feet in a wave of despair that threatened to capsize his sanity. His screams echoed down the hallway, broken and rasping and made solely of rage and despair. Pounding his fists against the wall, he relished in the pain, the distraction, and the artsful way his blood coated the metal in wide, watery streaks.

Gentle arms wrapped around his torso, pulling him away from the wall and dragging him from the precipice of self destruction.

His mind was bombarded with the image of Lance behind him during the few days as he dragged him away from Zarkon’s corpse. Strong and confident with a voice like a summer’s breeze. He could almost picture it as he turned around, desperate to see the blue paladin and hear his bubbling laugh.

But it was Pidge, her head nestled against him, helmet thrown to the corner of the room. She was shaking, her trembling fingers digging into his armor.

Keith’s body slumped, arms falling against her and knuckles dripping blood onto her armor. He didn’t even try to stifle the tears when they caressed down his cheek.

He had never been this close before, and somehow that made it hurt all the worse.

And that was how day 73 ended.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!! I hope you enjoyed this chapter because it's honestly one of my favorites!! ~~I also think that you all deserve a little comfort after all that hurt!~~
> 
> Your kudos and comments literally mean the world to me and I _liiiiiiive_ for them (≧◡≦) ♡
> 
> Come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!


	8. To Give Back Everything the Darkness Stole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 74 since the fog, and Keith is determined to get this one right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome back to the angst fest!!
> 
> I'm so sorry for missing three updates, my dudes -- I was moving, but I'm all settled in now, so I should be back on track!! (AND who else is ready for season 7, because I'm so so ready!!)

Keith woke with a crick in his neck and the count of day 74 heavy on his tongue.

“I won’t tell Allura if you won’t.” Pidge commented, not looking up from her computer.

Keith sighed and slid across the wall so that his head landed on Pidge’s shoulder. She didn’t react to his sudden touch as she kept typing. He closed his eyes again. Ever since Lance had spoken to him all those months ago, Keith relished in these little moments.

He always knew that he wasn’t very observant when it came to people, so he began to watch his teammates and became enamored with their little idiosyncrasies.

He loved the way that Coran would look at anyone when they spoke, giving them his undivided attention, so focused and wise. And there was the way that he brought joy to the castle with his stories and analogies and laughter. He was bright and shining and ever present.

He loved the way that Allura spoke. When she was stressed, she transformed into this regal demeanor, crafted by her father and her environment. But there were the little moments where she softened, laughed and gave her heart to her comrades. Keith had seen the way she helped relieve Shiro of the pressures of being a leader, all the while taking the pressure for herself. She was always brave and straight-forward, but that never diminished her kindness.

He loved the way Hunk mixed batter -- well the way that Hunk did anything in the kitchen. He would bite his lip and scrunch his nose when debating how to complete a recipe. Every time Keith would enter the kitchen, Hunk would offer him a taste. He would genuinely ask him -- a boy who lived off of Top Ramen in a shack for a year -- what he thought the dish needed. There was also the way that Hunk made everything his business. You wouldn’t suspect that the anxious, loveable yellow paladin was as nosy as could be, but he was. Keith didn’t realize how many things Hunk had picked up on, from conversations whispered around corners and minor details thrown in conversations.

He loved the way that Pidge focused all of her attentions on every task she was completing, eyebrows scrunching and bottom lip tucked between her teeth. She was an unstoppable force, completely blocking out any antics -- typically caused by Lance -- to focus. And it was that quick wit that gave her the greatest sense of humor, able to think of a funny retort at a moment’s notice.

He loved the way that Shiro looked out for the other members of the team. There was a reason that he was nominated to pilot the Kerberos mission -- he was an amazing team leader that listened to everyone and asked for their opinions of his ideas. He was compassionate and always willing to help, even if he was suffering himself. It was that kind of compassion that had saved Keith back at the Garrison.

And Lance. God, Keith loved the way that Lance did anything. The way that he laughed with the soft bobbing of his throat. The way that he smiled, bright and bold and unassuming. The way that he spoke with his hands, sweeping and intricate and a story in their own right. The way that Lance engaged in conversation, full-hearted and analyzing and -- goddamn, the way that he could make Keith forget his very death with a single look.

Pidge sighed and Keith’s head bobbed with the movement of her shoulders. Her typing stilled, and she brought up a single hand to pat Keith on the head. Chuckling under his breath, he sat up and walked out of the room.

Stretching out his aching neck, Keith walked into the kitchen. Hunk stood by the food goo machine and Lance stood over the counter, mug of steaming alien coffee in his hands.

“Buenos días,” Keith yawned and grabbed a plate from of food goo from Hunk.

“Buenos días, tonto,” Lance mumbled over his cup of coffee, but his smile was mischievous, expecting that Keith didn’t know the insult he’d spoken. He slurped it loudly, eyes half lidded with dark bags pulling at his bottom lashes.

Keith sighed, slumping into a chair at the table and not even fighting to keep his eyes from drifting over Lance’s relaxed form. The bags under those oceanic eyes looked even more pronounced today, dark and glaring against the tan of his skin.

“Te ves como mierda,” Keith grumbled as he shoveled a spoonful of food goo into his mouth.

Lance’s eyes sparked as he slammed his coffee cup to the table, “Qué dijiste?” Some of the liquid splashed out onto the counter. He rose to his full height and marched over to Keith’s side, “Acaso quieres pelear?”

“Shiro, please stop them,” Hunk’s voice was quiet as he handed the black paladin a plate of food goo.

Shiro didn’t accept the plate, striding past Hunk to stand next to the bickering paladins. He crossed his arms, and looked down on them, “What’s going on?”

“Keith just started insulting me!” Lance snapped, slamming a palm down on the table.

Keith took another casual bite of his food goo. “No, I didn’t.” His smile was sly as his gaze darted to Hunk. “Back me up, big guy.”

Hunk shifted his weight and wrung his hands, “Well, I actually don’t know what they were saying. It was all in Spanish.”

“What? Come on Hunk! You took Spanish in school.” Lance’s head whipped around so that his gaze could fixate on Keith, ready for Hunk to catch him in a lie. “You know that he was insulting me,” Lance grumbled in a bitten off whisper, “especially with that terrible pronunciation.”

“Lance, I know how to say ‘Can I go to the bathroom?’ and that’s it,” Hunk deadpanned. His eyes drifted to Shiro as if to plead his case to the judge.

Pidge strode through the door, laptop held out in front of her, one hand still typing and clicking. Her eyes were bloodshot beneath the glasses that slipped down her nose. She kept pushing them up with the back of her hand. Gently she placed her laptop on the table, and Keith pushed his plate of food to her. She didn’t question it as she began eating.

“Is Lance being dramatic again?” Pidge laughed a little as her eyes finally searched the room, seeing Lance’s tensed stance next to the table. Keith smiled sweetly as Hunk handed him another plate.

Lance gauffed, one hand placed to his heart with a look of honest offense on his face. “I don’t think it’s dramatic to be offended when Keith comes in here, insulting me in my own language just to avoid punishment!”

Pidge raised an eyebrow, looking to Keith. “I didn’t know you knew Spanish.” And Keith’s only response was a half-hearted shrug.

Shiro’s brow was furrowed, and it was clear that he didn’t know either. And Keith couldn’t say anything. All the days that he had learned with Lance, sitting close on the corners of couches or in the large hallway windows or seated by his bed were lost to time.

“Well, we can’t have this kind of attitude today of all days. We’re team, and it’s time we started acting like one.” Shiro stated with the full command of a leader as he took the seat next to Pidge.

Keith mumbled before taking a large spoonful of food goo, “Come mierda.”

Lance burst out laughing. His head tossed back and eyes closed in that radiant smile that Keith had somehow found the secret to. Keith watched him out of the corner of his eyes, fighting the small smirk by eating another bite of food.

“¡Coño, es un papá!” Lance chuckled.

Keith smiled, and they continued to share a whispered conversation in Spanish over breakfast until Shiro slammed a palm on the table. “English, please.” He was exasperated, and even Hunk and Pidge couldn’t help but laugh at his tone.

  


**~~~~**

  


“Keith!” Lance’s voice echoed down the hallway. Keith paused and turned back to see Lance approaching him, hands deep in the pockets of his olive green jacket. He shifted his weight to one foot when he stopped in front of Keith. “So, you never said when you learned Spanish.”

“Recently. I’m still learning a lot of vocab and tenses.” Keith shrugged his shoulders and continued walking down the hallway.

“Cool, cool.” Lance commented and switched his feet with a hop so that they’re steps were in sync. “Who taught you?”

Keith’s smile took on a watery quality. “You,” his whisper was small, almost inaudible over the hum of the ventilation system of the castle.

Lance tilted his head and eyed the red paladin with a raised eyebrow. “Dude, I don’t think I’ve ever even spoken Spanish in front of you.”

“Surprising since your mom’s from Cuba, and you grew up speaking Spanish.” Keith sighed and tossed his head back, slowly his pace and analyzing the ceiling tiles. “You think I would’ve heard at least a couple curses.”

“Oh, my mom would’ve killed me for cursing in any language.” He huffed a small laugh, but his tone still held a serious lilt. “But, sorry, I’ve never taught you Spanish.”

Keith’s eyes drifted from the ceiling. A self deprecating smile painted on his face. He hadn’t told the others about _today_ since the time Allura piloted Red. Where he stood helplessly in the command center with Coran and watched the ion cannons destroy Voltron. Where he had cleaned up their bodies and placed them in the cryopod. Where he had been left all alone.

“Yeah,” his tone was wistful, but in a second the softness that relaxed his features was gone. It was no longer day 73. It was day 74, and Keith was determined to not let there be a 75. “But maybe you’d help me one day.”

Lance clapped Keith on the back. “Why not today?” His smile was wide, and Keith could almost feel today slip through his fingers. Lance shrugged his shoulders, “It’s not like Allura will let us do anything major before the battle today. So, what’dya say?”

Keith smiled and couldn’t help but say yes. He knew he should be planning. Knew that he should be begging Lance to follow his lead in the field. Knew that he should be doing anything else but learning how to correctly roll his ‘r’s or how to conjugate the present progressive.

But there was just something too captivating about the blue paladin, and Keith didn’t know how to resist.

  


**~~~~**

  


They were walking to their lions, dressed fully in their paladin armor. The only sound that echoed in the hallway was the click of their shoes against the metal floor. Lance wasn’t even attempting to make some light conversation to lift the mood.

They were all startlingly aware of how grave this situation was.

“Alright, let’s go team!” Shiro shouted, nodding at each paladin before turning the corner to the black lion’s hangar.

Hunk and Lance hugged, fighting for lighthearted smiles as they clapped each other’s backs. Pidge fist bumped each other them and turned away before they could see her face. Keith lingered to the side, nodding at Hunk and Pidge as they went their separate ways.

Lance gave him a tentative smile.

“Good luck out there, mullet.” Lance quipped, jokingly saluting Keith before striding toward his lion.

Keith didn’t think twice before he grabbed Lance’s arm to stop him. “Wait, Lance!”

Lance flinched, turning sharply to face Keith. Dread was washed over Lance’s features, but he quickly schooled his features. That was obviously something Keith wasn’t supposed to see, and like a knife plunging into his heart, the realization that Lance had been scared to fight this final battle made all the days before this unbearable to think about.

He placed a gentle hand on Keith’s fingers that were digging into the blue paladin’s armor.

“Keith, I have to --”

“Do you trust me?” Keith demanded, shaking Lance’s arm.

Lance’s gaze softened, “Of course, I do. You shouldn’t even have to ask --”

“Then will you defer to my judgement out there?” Keith fixed Lance with his gaze. Slender eyebrows rose before settling in a confused furrow. Lance parted his lips to say something, denying Keith by the defiant set of his jaw.

Keith quickly let go of Lance’s arm, dropped his helmet to the ground, and threw his arms around the blue paladin. Lance inhaled sharply. Slowly, those tender arms that pulled him away from Zarkon’s body all those days ago wrapped around his torso. A tentative hug.

Closing his eyes, Keith allowed himself to relish in the comforting scent of vanilla and cedar.

“Please, Lance,” Keith pleaded, hands sliding from around the blue paladin’s neck to rest on his chest, searching for the heartbeat hidden beneath his armor. “I can’t bear to watch you die again.” Keith begged, hands scratching against Lance’s armor as his forehead rested against the blue paladin’s chest.

Lance chuckled lightly, a single hand resting on the back of Keith’s head, “I’m not going anywhere, Keith.”

There was a crackle over their communicators, and Keith’s helmet sounded loudly from their feet. “Lance. Keith. Where are you guys?” Shiro’s voice was harsh, the strict leader they knew he could be, tensed from the anticipation of today.

Lance quickly stepped back from Keith and pulled his helmet on. “We’re coming!” He smiled to Keith before jogging down the hallway that led to the blue lion’s hangar.

Keith plucked up his helmet and put it on, watching the way Lance’s back disappeared down the curving hallway.

“You guys alright?” Hunk’s voice was worried.

“Of course,” Keith answered, sprinting toward his lion.

He held her controls reverently, and Red purred at his touch. She was ready for battle, bloodthirsty and eager.

They would win today.

  


**~~~~**

  


Like lightning streaking across the sky, the flaming sword slashed through the metal of Zarkon’s mechanic suit, leaving only serrated edges behind. Keith tightened his grip on the controls as Red shook with the familiar impact as his teammate’s cheers sounded through the communicator.

Light still gleamed in the eyes of the suit, determined and bloodthirsty as the emperor flailed the unresponding limbs.

“Again!” Shiro commanded, driving them forward so they chased after the flailing body of the Emperor.

With the final arc of the sword, the sound of tearing metal vibrated through the blade and Keith grit his teeth, glancing at the familiar sight: Zarkon’s mechanic suit was flayed open, metal curling outwards like petals, to expose the Emperor within, twisted around wires and debris. His head lolled to the side, and Keith pictured the many times Zarkon’s head floated separately from his body into the expanse of space.

“Did we do it?” Pidge whispered, disbelief coloring her tone.

Adrenaline singed Keith’s veins as everything seemed to sharpen around him, palms sweaty and fingers twitching around the controls.

On day 73 since the fog, Keith had almost managed to save Lance because he had kept Voltron intact and forced them to dodge the Komar -- just barely. If he stuck close to that plan, there was a possibility that he would succeed. That this day would finally end.

He bit his cheek and tasted blood, coppery and almost grounding.

“We can’t be sure. We have to check the body,” Shiro swallowed, tone quiet and mimicking Pidge’s disbelief. Keith parted his lips to voice his plan, to keep Voltron together at all costs, but Shiro cut him off, “Voltron disband.”

“No!” Keith screamed, but it was too late -- they were individual lions, and the presence of his fellow paladins had dimmed at the edges of his mind. His throat constricted on a sob, on the failure that tightened around his chest and threatened to suffocate him.

No. He had promised that today would be the last of all of this -- he refused to allow himself to fall back into the despair that haunted his days and buried itself under his fingernails.

Today he would save Lance.

Panic sharpened his vision, clarifying the sight of Lance flying from the mouth of the blue lion. With his gun poised, Lance flew close to Zarkon and with a scream that Keith echoed, he shot holes through the Emperor’s body. Rage saturated his posture, tightening his shoulders and cracking the shrieks that cut through the communicator as he kept firing.

“Lance!” Keith cried out, too familiar with the fury and bloodlust that engulfed Lance. Sprinting from his seat and to the mouth of his lion, he saw the burned sections of skin and armor that littered Zarkon chest.

“It’s okay,” Lance breathed, lowering his bayard to his side. “He’s dead.”

“Yeah,” Keith nodded, rushing back to his pilot seat as dread carved goosebumps on his skin. But Lance still floated calmly in the space before his lion, blaster swinging at his side. “Lance, please --”

“Get back to your lion, Lance!” Shiro commanded as he swung Black’s tail in an arc to take out several fighter jets that dove into the avenge their Emperor. Pidge and Hunk were protecting them, signaling that this battle wasn’t over, that even with the Emperor dead, his people would fight for his honor.

With a growl, Keith dove, hunting down the Galra and protecting his teammates, leaving explosions in his wake with Red’s jaw blade. He gave Lance cover, watching for the komar to spark at the base of the Galra Command Center until the Blue lion roared and joined the battle once again.

Keith’s fingers slipped from the controls, sweat sticky underneath his thick armor, as slight relief breathed through him.

“There’s too many for each of us,” Pidge called, grunting as she precariously dodged a fighter.

Shiro’s voice was strained over the comms, “Let’s form Voltron!”

They began to fly in formation, their minds reaching out and tickling the edges of Keith’s consciousness. But Keith knew it would be too late -- they had never formed Voltron twice.

The taste of dread was so heavy on Keith’s tongue that he couldn’t tear his focus or his eyes from Lance. The hair on his arms raised as a cold tendril of apprehension trailed down his spine. He could practically smell the energy in the air and hear the horrors that whispered themselves into reality.

With a scream, Keith yanked Red out of formation, hands trembling on his controls as he dove for Lance.

“Lance!” His throat was raw as he called out to the blue paladin, the boy who taught him to speak Spanish, who brought light back into these days, who not only spun stories but also listened to everything Keith said -- even if he never remembered it the next morning.

A bolt of energy sparked at the base of the command center, igniting the air around it and thickening the air with miasma.

“Look out!”

And it was as if watching in slow motion. The energy darted through space like fractured lightning. And the blue lion was directly in its path.

His scream constricted his throat, tearing the skin raw, but it was inaudible over the rush of blood in his ears and the panic that consumed his heart.

He could picture every single time Lance had died, every single goddamn time Keith had lived this day. His blood, deep wine and viscous, coagulating with exposure along the hangar floor or fragmenting with crystals of ice. How his severed and broken limbs had swung in Hunk’s arms with each step. The way his tissues seeped and mawed, and the smell of his intestines and how once they dragged between Keith’s legs as he walked Lance down the ramp of the red lion. Lance’s whispered last words, the terror or horror that painted his features, fingers searching and clutching at Keith, begging for him to understand.

“ _A ti, o señor, elevo mi alma._ ”

Red growled, her fury resonating through Keith’s mind at the sight of everything Keith hadn’t intended to share. In his panic, he was unaware that he projected the images to Red and to the edges of the paladin’s minds.

But he didn’t have time to ponder what his teammates had seen or what exactly their connection had conveyed, because Red roared, heating emitting from her hide in outrage and wrath. Rearing her head back, she charged forward with a speed Keith had never experienced.

They collided with Blue, pushing her out of the formation and out of the path of the komar just before it struck him.

A scream tore itself from Keith’s lungs as lightning darted over his nerves and he convulsed against the pilot seat. Every single muscle contracted at the same time, ripping and tearing for dominance. His head slammed against the chair with an unsteady beat. Hands slipped from the controls, curling against his lap. His ribs slammed against the arm rests with bruising force, winding him. His lungs refused to expand, and he whimpered the last of his air away.

But as soon as the energy had struck, it left.

His body slumped against the chair, muscles exhausted and bones aching, but he couldn’t fight the small smile that curled his lips.

Hope resonated in the small space in his ribs loss had carved day after day.

“Guys?” he croaked into his communicator, voice hoarse and throat raw. But there was no response, not even static. Just silence.

Blearly he opened his eyes, vision warped and blurry. He reached forward for Red’s controls, feeling for her energy, but there was nothing. The last he had felt her, she was a fiery force burning so bright and dangerous he hesitated to reach out for her again.

There was silence in his mind, except for the pain that still resonated like a throbbing ache between his temples.

“Is anyone there?”

Rubbing at his eyes with the palm of one hand, the last thing he saw through his watery vision was a bright light through the dimness of Red’s eyes.

The force of the blast blew him against the seat, ripping his hand off of Red’s controls and contorting his already injured body. There was nothing but the devouring agony that consumed like Red’s rage, but physical and scorching his flesh. Like waves of agony that pinned him against the shore, Keith struggled for breath, but oh, God, make it stop!

_Stop!_

But even when the fire died, there was nothing but embers of pain that seared up his legs and arms and settled like coal in his ribs. His head swam with blurry vision that couldn’t seem to focus on the debris that floated around him. His ears rang, drowning out the sound of silence.

An explosion of agony ignited across his stomach with every ragged breath. His clumsy fingers drew across his abdomen, pressing against the armor and sinking into valleys of pain. Head lolling forward, he saw through the cracked glass of his visor. His stomach was mauled, blood dancing around his skin with little hunks of charred flesh.

Inhaling shallowly, panic overwhelmed him, drowning out the pain that flared like kerosene on a fire with each breath. He wanted to claw at his chest and the pressure that strangled him, but his fingers were weak and his eyes fluttered closed.

Fuck, he might not even be able to stay conscious.

The next thing Keith registered that wasn’t pain were hands that gently dragged him through space. He knew these warm arms, the way they twisted and looked when shattered and lifeless, the way they felt warm and squeezing and bitter and frost bitten.

His eyes parted with a small moan to see Lance’s face peering above him, fear carving itself home on his features.

A small whimper parted his lips, chin trembling as the hope sang in his chest. Had everything been for this moment? Had he really done it?

“Lance,” he wheezed, but his communicator didn’t work. He reached up to grab the arms holding him, wanting to draw the blue paladin’s attention, anything to see a smile and know that Lance was alive.

But Lance didn’t spare him a glance until Blue swallowed them. He sagged in Lance’s arms, unable to hold himself up, agony still vibrated against his bones and clawing into sinew and muscle.

Gently, Lance placed him on the ground behind his pilot seat -- so reminiscent of those first few days. He took a minute to take of Keith’s helmet, fingers darting to his neck to check for a pulse.

Keith couldn’t pull his watery gaze away from Lance’s face, those flushed cheeks and furrowed brow, everything indicating that he was alive. He was _alive_.

“Keith,” Lance’s voice was firm and desperate, fingers drawing away from his neck.

Smiling at the sound of Lance’s voice, Keith’s eyes fluttered closed, but those lithe fingers shook him awake.

“Can you talk to me buddy?” Lance demanded as he stood and took a seat at Blue’s controls. “I need to know you’re alright. I’m getting us to the castle now. Everything will be alright.” But his voice was cracking, and Keith could see the way his fingers clenched the controls in a white-knuckled grip.

“Lance,” Keith breathed, like bubbles from a drowning man’s mouth.

Lance sobbed in response, shoulders hunching as he avoided the Galra in a desperate attempt to get them to the castle -- so similar to yesterday, day 73.

Keith’s head lolled to the side, attempting to stare out the dashboard window and watch the talented way Lance piloted. But he couldn’t seem to focus his eyes, and the ringing in his ears had dulled to a painless deafness. Each breath was a shorter burst, like someone was squeezing and popping his lungs, force the air out of him and dragging him deeper into the ocean.

“Yeah, he just spoke to me. He - he’s not looking too good,” Lance’s voice was thick, and Keith closed his eyes at the sound of it. Relaxing, he let his hand fall from his bleeding torso to the floor as he enjoyed the way unconsciousness called to him from the depths, fathoms below the agony that simmered at his skin. He let Lance’s voice lull him to sleep.

  


**~~~~**

  


With the sharp snap of his head, he woke. One arm was curled against his stomach, shifting with the heavy breaths of the person holding him. Their arms were firm and pressed deep into his flesh, a grip that Keith was sure should hurt. But every molecule of his body was a wash of pain that thrummed through his system in waves that threatened to drown him.

He gazed up, looking at the underside of Lance’s helmet, each breath fogging the glass. Lance looked down at him, smiling weakly, “That’s it Keith! Keep your eyes open for me.”

“Mantén tus ojos abiertos,” Keith slurred, smiling like it’s a funny joke.

Lance’s footsteps stuttered as a small sob burst from his lips. Squeezing his eyes closed, Keith fought against the fatigue that saturated his muslces to raise his dangling arm to brush against Lance’s face. But the visor was slick against his fingertips, and he ended up just drawing bloody streaks across the glass. All he wanted was to feel the heat of Lance’s skin, to feel the smile that brightened his days.

“Lance,” Keith wheezed, fingers curling into a fist against his stomach.

“It’s okay, buddy. You don’t need to talk.” Lance shifted him higher in his arms, “Save your strength.”

But his words were almost lost to the fog that enveloped his mind, a darkness that pulled on the back of his eyelids. It promised rest, that Keith had done everything he’d needed to do.

He’d saved Lance.

Keith fought to inhale deeply so that he could speak, so that the dizziness and pain would fade. But it was only a shallow breath, only enough to whisper. “Lance, so glad you’re alive.”

A broken sob shattered the blue paladin, but he kept running, arms tightening around Keith.

Keith’s eyes fluttered closed, “I saved you.”

“Yes, you did,” Lance whispered, throat constricted with tears.

“I _finally_ did it.”

  


**~~~~**

  


He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes until the suddenly cold against his feet shocked him. Eyes flashing open, he saw Lance’s stricken expression, face pale and bottom lip worried between his teeth.

Swaying unsteadily, Keith’s knees gave out with the slightest weight on them. Lance’s firm hand kept him standing, pressing him against the wall of the cryopod. The walls were close and it smelled of cleaning supplies, so stark and different from the comfort of Lance’s arms.

Keith inhaled to say something, but like a ignition of fire, his body was nothing but the pain and fog that devoured his consciousness. Eyes fluttering closed, he watched the cryopod door shut.

And like his last words before drowning, Keith whispered, “A ti, o señor, elevo mi alma.” And watched Lance’s chin tremble with a weak smile, placing a tender hand against the cryopod door.

For the first time in 73 nights, Keith finally rested.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!! Again, I wanna say sorry for making you all wait so long for it, but I'll be on a regular posting schedule from now on -- and if not, I'll try to update all of you on my tumblr!!
> 
> Thank you so so much to everyone who comments on my chapters, because you honestly make my entire day!! Σ>―(〃°ω°〃)♡→ I read the comments over and over, and they _**fuel me!!!**_
> 
> Please drop a kudos or a comment if you feel inclined! I love to hear everything you have to say -- even if it's just screaming haha
> 
> Also you can come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!! ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶


	9. Intermission: Relief (guilt and sorrow laced)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Welcome back to the angst fest!
> 
> Sorry for missing Saturday's posting -- season 7 had me feeling a lot of different things, but yeah. But don't worry, this fic will continue (I've been working on it for almost a year, so there's no way that I'm stopping now haha). Also, I'm posting several chapters today since they're short, and I missed Saturday!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter and the ones that follow!!

“Lance!” Allura’s voice echoed in the almost empty podbay, followed by the sound of the rushing footsteps of the paladins.

Lance let out a ragged sigh, attempting to calm the adrenaline that still thrummed in his veins and the guilt that chewed on his ribs and sank like anchors in his stomach. His hand curled against the cryopod and his shoulders straightened, head tipping back before he righted himself, chest tight and eyes burning with unshed tears.

Allura’s face was the first thing he saw in the blurriness of his vision, watching as his teammates rushed into the room. There was a pallor to her skin that seemed so unnatural, so cultivated by fear and loss. She stopped in the middle of the room, eyes drifting past Lance to land on Keith in the cryopod -- bloody and broken but somehow smiling weakly.

Shiro’s face was pale as he steadied himself on the center console. The soft whirring of his Galra given arm was the only sound that he made. His eyes were wide, jaw soft and lips parted, as if he hadn’t pictured the damaged state of Keith’s body and the reality threatened to capsize his consciousness.

Striding past Pidge who still lingered near the door, Hunk walked to Lance’s side, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. His eyes fixated on Lance’s face, because it was too difficult to look at Keith’s figure behind the glass of the cryopod.

Lance might have swayed because Hunk’s grip tightened on his shoulder.

Walking forward with a faux steadiness, Allura touched the pod, armor scratched, charred, and blood splattered. Her hair was a mess, strands dancing around her face, but there was a set to her lips and a determination to her eyes. A holo-screen popped up, and she pressed several buttons, worrying her lip between her teeth as she read Keith’s vitals.

Breath stilled in Lance’s chest as he watched Allura’s face for any hint on the status of the red paladin.

Keith was squeezed into the pod in his paladin armor, shoulders hunched and scratching the metal. But his face was surprisingly peaceful with that damn smile on his lips, like this was better than any alternative, like protecting Lance -- the blue paladin, the seventh wheel, just a simple boy from Cuba -- was a worthy sacrifice.

“He is stable for now,” Allura breathed, relief and worry coloring her tone as she smiled softly. Continuing to click on several support systems, she turned her face away from the team as her shoulders trembled, strands of hair concealing her features as if to keep her composure. “Coran is more familiar with the cryopod system than I am, so I shall call him down to ensure Keith’s speedy recovery.” She nodded to the team, turning on a heel and walking out of the room. But her sniffles echoed down the hallway.

Exhaling softly, Shiro smiled as a wave of relief swept through the team, saturating the room with grateful tentative smiles.

Lance couldn’t help the small exhaled sob that broke free in his chest. Grabbing onto Hunk, Lance’s legs weakened, knees slamming into the unforgiving metal flooring and dragging Hunk down with him. Cheek pressed into the cool, metal of Hunk’s armor, Lance relied on his best friend for support.

Keith was alive. Lance hadn’t been too late.

Hunk’s hands gripped Lance’s armor with shaking force, as if he was stabilizing himself to hold back shuddering sobs while tears silently soaked into Lance’s hair. Lance just clutched at Hunk tighter, unable to voice the fear that had consumed him or the memories that still haunted him: the weight of Keith’s limp body in his arms or the smell of his blood or his last gurgled words.

Running into the room, Pidge wrapped her arms around Shiro’s waist, burying her head into his sternum with a muffled cry. Shiro ran a trembling hand through her hair, biting his lip and tilting his head back to gaze at the ceiling.

In a minute, Lance was standing, wiping at his tears with the palm of his hand and striding over to Shiro. The black paladin smiled, extending out an arm to bring Lance to his chest, voice breaking as he spoke, “Thank you, Lance.”

Lance shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut and curling his fingers into Shiro’s armor.

“Don’t thank me,” he wheezed, unable to fight the tears that caressed his cheeks. “It -- it’s my fault that --”

He was quickly pushed away from Shiro’s chest, one hand gripping his shoulder so tightly that it pulsed with pain. His blurry vision focused on Shiro’s enraged features: the tightness to his jaw, the steeliness to his gaze, and the curl of his lips.

“This isn’t your fault, Lance! This is war.” His features relaxed, a small, almost teasing smile pulled at his lips. “Keith chose to protect you, and you protected him in return. So there’s nothing to be sorry for.”

Lance nodded, throat constricting with all the words he couldn’t voice: if only he was smarter, faster, or more observant, than Keith wouldn’t have had to sacrifice anything. But he just smiled and banished those thoughts to the back of his mind.

Suddenly, Coran sprinted through the door, worry settling into the lines of his face and aging him significantly. Allura followed behind him, hair pulled back in a neat bun with only a few strands still dancing around her face. Her Altean markings almost seemed pinker against her flushed skin and puffy eyes.

Coran placed a steadying hand on Allura’s shoulder as he examined Keith’s vitals on the cryopod holo-screen. He twisted his mustache as he poked a few buttons, quickly glancing up at Keith through the blue film of the cryopod door.

After the sudden spark of relief had settled in everyone’s chest, Coran explained what would happen with Keith in the following movements while he programed the cryopod to fit Keith’s needs.

And Lance couldn’t stop the overwhelming feeling of relief that washed away the terror that Keith had sacrificed himself for him -- the seventh wheel, the Blue Paladin of Voltron.

But Keith was safe. And all they had to do now was wait.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!!
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone that comments on all of my chapters -- you all are honestly the best and I hope you understand how wonderful all of your comments make me feel (≧◡≦) ♡
> 
> So yah, drop a kudos or a comment and scream at me for all the angst haha
> 
> Also you can come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!


	10. Only Where the Forest Fires Have Spread

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter tile is from the poem Fire-Flowers by Emily Pauline Johnson!!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I understand if you all hate me now haha (ง ื▿ ื)ว

“Get up!” The voice was harsh and grating against the remnants of sleep saturating Keith’s mind, like he was wading through tar to just open his eyes. “Kogane! Get up!”

His hands pulled at the blanket, groaning in response and burying his face into the lumpy pillow. But the blanket was ripped away as a cold breeze brushed his extraordinarily hot skin. He whimpered when a cold hand clamped on his arm shook him violently. “Get the quiznak up, Kogane. We’re under attack!”

Shooting to a seated position, Keith was suddenly, achingly awake. He yanked his tender skin out of the clawed grip of the man in front of him: tall in stature, and looming and intimidating, with a jagged scar that danced down the right side of his face through scathing eyes. Red face paint decorated his forehead and cheeks. His build was impressive, intimidating, and commanding enough for Keith to follow his orders even with his mind foggy and fumbling for an explanation.

The soldier gave a solid nod, before sprinting out of Keith’s room and down the hallway.

Stuttering to his feet, Keith’s knees gave out, weakened like he hadn’t been active in days. He grappled against the nightstand for support. There were shoes at the edge of his bed, soft red leather, worn and well loved. Shoving his feet in them, he couldn’t fight the feeling of wrongness that saturated his system to the tips of his numb fingertips.

Grabbing the red cloak from the back of the door, he rushed down the slender, humid hallway, clasping the silver pin at the neck. Running up a small tower of spiraling steps, he emerged at the top of a barricade, scraping his shoulder against the rough stones of the walls.

The view took his breath away.

The castle behind him was tall, looming and impressive, crafted from darkened stone. It was settled at the top of a hill, surrounded by ocean on three sides with a thin pathway of grassland backed by a forest that spilled out before him, dark evergreens and snow-capped mountains in the far distance. There was the constant briny smell that saturated the air as sea spray dotted his cheeks and left a small dash of fog mingling in the grass. He stood on the front wall and gazed at the battlefield stories below.

Enemies dressed in purple robes and tunics charged in on horses, firing bolts of energy from their fingertips. Knights with a Galra crest carved into their armored chests charged forward, screaming and bloodthirsty. Arrows fired from the barricade beside him, striking with exploding force in the cracks in their armor.

“Keith!” a voice called over the din of the battle. Lance was running across the top of the wall, blue cloak flowing behind him in the ocean breeze.

_Lance._

And Keith remembered everything with startling clarity. Space. The lions. Zarkon. Lance dying. Again ( _the weight of Lance in his arms_ ) and again ( _the pungent smell of his blood_ ) and again ( _the aching depression that lulled him to sleep each night_ ).

His skin felt too tight on his body, his knees knobby and arms less muscular. His tunic was too breezy, crafted of thick wool and fine thread embellishments. He palmed at his body and hair, feeling a long messy ponytail perched at the top of his head. The sea breeze that was so familiar to him just moments ago, only tortured him, a sensation he shouldn’t be feeling in this strange, cryo-pod induced dream.

He stumbled backward, knees knocking and limbs unfamiliar with his gait. “What the fuck’s going on?” he snapped, looking to Lance for all the answers.

But the Blue Paladin wasn’t looking at him. He was standing on the parapet, arms spread and eyes closed, concentration furrowing his brow and tensing his shoulders. With a sudden movement, he clapped his hands together in front of him. Waves jumped over the cliff side and crashed together on the battlefield, dragging enemies back to the depths with hands spun from seafoam and currents.

A single arrow fired and struck Lance in the shoulder, embedding deep with a splatter of blood and severed muscle. With a howl, he stumbled back to the wall-walk, off the edge of the wall. His sneer was venom, “What the hell, Keith? Cover me!”

Keith was at his side, checking the wound with a too intimate knowledge of Lance’s injured body. It wasn’t dangerously deep or at risk of nicking an artery, but Lance still clutched at his shoulder with a look of excruciating pain.

“What’s happening?”

“Use your quiznacking eyes! The Galra are attacking,” Lance snapped, twirling his uninjured hand in the air. Briny saltwater gathered along his fingers, ensnared by the blue paladin, like a glove sewn of liquid. Without warning, he ripped the arrow from the belly of his muscle, spraying blood across his shirt and jaw. He threw it to the ground before placing his hand on the wound.

Keith watched mesmerized as the wound began to seal itself closed under the swirling water. “Kogane,” Lance growled, “Stop watching me and defend the damn castle!”

Glancing up at the castle, it almost looked impenetrable with thick stone walls and fighters lining them. With the sea at their backs and the Galra marching at their only defendable front, Keith was less worried about the castle than Lance who had always had a tendency for self sacrifice.

There was a glint of starlight through the high windows of the castle, and Keith could almost see Allura pacing, worrying her lip.

Standing to his full height, his determination solidified. He wasn’t sure what the hell was going on, uncomfortable in his body and unfamiliar with his surroundings, but Lance and his team needed protection. And so he would protect them.

Perched behind the parapet, he reached for a bow and arrow stored there. “Stop quiznaking around Keith!” Lance snarled, startling the weapons from Keith’s grasp. “We don’t need anymore damn archers!”

“Then how am I supposed to defend the castle from here?”

“Use your goddamn magic,” Lance growled and gave him a look like he was contemplating pushing Keith off the wall.

Magic?

At the thought of it, his veins burned hot. Molten lava capsizing his heart and filling his lungs, pumice and ash settling in his capillaries. He placed his trembling hands on the ledge of the parapet. Following Lance’s example, he stood with arms outstretched and tried to call for the fire beneath his skin like he called for Red.

He slapped his hands together, and nothing happened.

He gazed down at his palms, confused as fire simmered under his skin and pulsed with the need to break free. Squeezing his eyes shut, he called for Red, desperate for help and guidance, anything in his maelstrom that had consumed him.

“Keith!” Lance scream drew him from his desperation, turning to see the blue paladin’s panicked features. His hand was outstretched, reaching for Keith as he struggled to jump from the wall-walk, water bubbling at his fingertips.

“What --” he breathed when a bolt of energy struck Keith directly in the heart.

Agony consumed him, pushed the air from his lungs and stole the strength from his legs. Dizzy and stumbling, he fell forward, hands flailing in an attempt to steady himself on something that wasn’t there. Dropped to the grass like a rag doll, body limp but still so feeling.

There was nothing but pain, lightning through his nerves and searing like fire. And then, consuming darkness.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, yeeeaaahh -- this is one of my favorite arcs of the piece, so I hope you enjoy it too! But thanks so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!!
> 
> The castle described in this section is actually inspired by a castle I visited called [Dunnottar Castle in Scotland](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dunnottar_Castle) if you wanted to see some of my inspiration for this chapter!!
> 
> Kudos and comments literally mean the world to me, and I totally understand if this chapter just leaves you screaming (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)
> 
> You can also come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!


	11. Intermission: The New Normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows you the way into the angst fest*

The rest of the day’s events had been exhausting, between learning about the outcome of the Galra Empire -- factions had surrendered while others were preparing for the Kral Zera, a bloodthirsty battle of the competitors for emperor -- and beginning their newest duties as Paladins of Voltron, not simply the enemy of Zarkon but the peacekeepers of the Universe.

Anxiety had sung in Lance’s blood, frantic fingers tapping rhythms against his thighs while his mind was unable to settle or absorb any new information. He’d simply nodded along to Allura and Kolivan’s speeches, seeing the glossiness in the other paladin’s eyes, minds distracted and lingering elsewhere.

After all of the meetings, Lance had gone to visit Keith again, finding a fraction of peace in the relaxation on Keith’s features, the comfort and sleep-like content. Positioning himself against the wall, perfect view of Keith’s pod, Lance had scrolled through his tablet, determined to keep busy while he could look up every time his heart skipped a beat or his breath shortened.

Hunk had found him soon after, settling in beside him with a tray of assorted food, fingers stained various colors and bandaged from knife nicks.

They didn’t speak. Not about the way Hunk fiddled with the ends of his band-aids, hands still looking for something to do, even though he’d prepared enough food to fed them for weeks. Not about the way Lance’s muscles suddenly tightened with anxiety or the moments when his mind whispered loathing-induced thoughts, hands curling into fists at his sides.

They didn’t say a word.

Lance just set his head on Hunk’s shoulder, and they both embraced the comfort the other provided, the strange peace that saturated the air and calmed their racing minds.

“He’ll get better, right Hunk?” Lance breathed, head shifting with the deep sigh lifting Hunk’s shoulders.

“You were blown up, and you came out fine in just a few vargas,” Hunk mumbled, but the smile on his face was forced, a twisted and almost sickly thing. “So I’m sure he’ll be alright.”

Lance fiddled with the hem of his jacket, pulling at the loose threads without fraying the cloth more. “But Coran said that he couldn’t predict when the cryopod will open,” he swallowed harshly, unable to fight the way his eyes drifted over Keith’s prone form, “since his injuries are so severe.”

They had dressed him in the white cryopod suit after Keith had stabilized several hours ago, and from the lights of the podbay, he almost looked more sickly in the white fabric.

Hunk just nodded, hands twisting together, hard enough to turn his knuckles white from the force. “He’ll be alright,” he whispered, but it sounded more like a prayer than anything else.

Lance nodded against Hunk’s shoulder, closing his eyes and allowed himself to be comforted by his best friend’s presence, calming him enough to sleep after their exhausting day.

  


**~~~~**

  


The sound of a blaring alarm made Lance jump, jolting him out of sleep. His neck complained from sleeping on the floor of the podbay as he rushed to his feet. Hunk woke slower than him, staggering to his feet and rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes.

Sprinting across the room to Keith’s side, Lance watched with horror, jaw dropping and stomach rolling. A splotch of blood seeped along Keith’s chest, stark against the pale suit and the pallor of his complexion. It spanned across his chest, burgundy and charring as it splattered at his feet and dripped down his abdomen.

The alarm rose in volume, blaring with each pulse of the spreading pool of blood.

Hunk gagged, staggering backward as horror contorted his features.

Growling, Lance slammed his hand on the glass of the pod, bringing up the holo-screen of Keith’s vitals. A frustrated scream bellowed from between his clenched teeth when he couldn’t change the language from Altean.

He glanced up at Keith, watching the way his features distorted with agony, hands clenching at his sides and muscles tensing. But all that tension drifted away in a single exhale.

Lance’s hand fell to his side, able to understand when Keith flatlined in every language.

The alarm blared louder over the sound of Keith’s silent heartbeat.

Dizziness devoured his mind as Lance swayed on his feet, hand pressing against the door of the cryopod for balance. His heart hammered against his ribs, aching with each pulse. His eyes burned with unshed tears as the relief that had removed the burden from his chest shattered, crushing him under the weight of his guilt and despair.

Reality seemed to detach, fracture like the edges of a startling dream.

But this wasn’t some damn dream. Keith was dead.

The sound of pounding footsteps echoed down the hallway, announcing the arrival of help a moment too late. But before they could reach the podbay, the alarm stopped.

Lance’s head jerked up, astonished to see Keith perfectly healthy, suit clean and a small smile lilting the corners of his lips like he was having a pleasant dream. His heart beat steadily on the holo-screen as if he were merely sleeping.

Staggering away from the pod, Lance’s fingers curled in his hair, astonishment and fear churning in his stomach as his ears still rang from the blaring alarm.

Turning wide eyes to Hunk, he swallowed. The yellow paladin gripped at his own shirt with trembling hands, skin pale and palms sweaty.

“You saw that too right?”

Hunk nodded as Shiro and Coran ran into the room, sweaty and half dressed, only to see Keith smiling softly.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like all of you have more questions that answers right now, but I promise everything will be answered!!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and thanks to everyone who gives me kudos and who writes a comment! You all mean the world to me, and I hope that you're continuing to enjoy my fic!
> 
> You can come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!


	12. Scorching Relentlessly the Cool North Lands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from the poem Fire-Flowers by Emily Pauline Johnson! (as will some of the following chapters haha)
> 
> This is the last chapter for today, my dudes, but I will be posting again on Saturday, so stay tuned! (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ

“Get up!” Keith inhaled deeply, expecting throbbing pain in his chest that seared along his ribs and charred his skin. But there was nothing. “Kogane! Get up!”

Keith sat up sharply, feeling woozy from the amount of blood that rushed from his face. He glanced at the knight standing at the threshold to his room, cald in white armor with a ‘V’ crested in the middle. His chain mail clinked when he crossed his arms, disapproval evident in his familiar scathing glare.

Kolivan, his mind supplied with a spark of familiarity, and Keith wasn’t sure how he knew that this tanned, buff, and very human-looking man was the same as the fierce Blade of Marmora leader. But he just knew.

“We’re under attack. Man the East wall!” he announced before storming out of his room and down the corridor, determination setting his shoulders and quickening his pace.

Keith placed a delicate hand against his chest, waiting for pain and the stickiness of blood on his fingers. Or the fracturing ache of his broken bones that had sent him whirling into today again, a bitterly nostalgic vertigo that had possessed his life for an uncountable number of days. But there wasn’t even a fraction of pain.

Glancing around the room, he knew that it was his. The lone door led to the hallway Kolivan had run down, while the solitary window shone fragments of sunlight from the opposite side of the room. The only pieces of furniture were a bed and a polished nightstand, populated with an oil lamp and several books. The walls were thick stone, but he could still hear the sound of crackling magic and the crash of metal.

He shoved his feet into his boots and almost walked out without the red cape that was hanging beside his door. But his neck tingled without the familiar weight. Glancing at the cloak, he pulled it off the hook and clasped it around his neck.

He climbed the steps with a dizzying speed as a familiar anxiety hummed in his blood. Lance was already standing on the edge of the parapet, summoning the waves to consume members of the Galra military.

Keith jumped to his side, standing in a fighting stance, as he tried to summon his magic from underneath his skin. Reaching out, he tried and failed to spark fire as the arrow struck Lance deep in the shoulder. But Keith was there to catch him as he stumbled backward off the ledge to the wall-walk.

“Late as always, ponytail,” Lance growled, grasping at the arrow wound and summoning briny sea water to his fingertips.

“How do I use magic?” Keith asked, pulling Lance a little tighter in his arms.

Lance’s head snapped to look at him, eyes narrowed and lips curling in a snarl. He huffed and tore the arrowhead out of his well-muscled shoulder. Placing his ocean-covered fingers against the wound, it began to heal, skin stitching back together under the careful ministrations of Lance’s magic.

When Keith didn’t let him go, Lance elbowed him. “We don’t have time for a lesson! Just fight the quiznaking Galra.”

“But I don’t know -- remember how to use magic!” Keith pleaded on his knees, crawling close to Lance’s crouched form. Desperation destroyed his pride, the taste of death still fresh on his tongue from this morning and the fraction of a day he’d lived yesterday.

“Stop screwing with me, Keith!” Lance screeched, spittle flying from his mouth. There was a grave set to his eyes and a tenseness to his jaw. Keith stood with irritation snapping his joints and walked to the edge of the wall. “Blessed Yemaya, help us.” Lance prayed in exasperation.

Magic.

The feeling of fire burning just beneath his skin was foreign and singeing. Closing his eyes, he tried to summon the feeling of familiarity that told him Kolivan’s name and directed his feet to the tower stairwell to reach the East wall. Yet there was no spark of recognition in his fingertips, only the pins and needles and remnant heat of extinguished burns.

If he had no idea how to summon magic, he would just have to try something similar to Lance’s movements earlier. Another movement, a spell of some sort could pull the fire from beneath his flesh.

But, all he could picture was the fire-making spell from Harry Potter. And honestly, it was better than nothing. Better than squatting next to Lance and watching the enemy breach the walls of the castle.

He perched on the edge of the parapet and pointed a single finger. “Incendio!” he shouted, picturing a bonfire sprouting where he had pointed. There was nothing, and he sighed harshly.

“Keith!” Lance cried in warning, still crouched behind him, cleaning his wound.

A bolt of energy struck him in the chest, stealing the breath from his lungs. Agony radiated along every single rib, spasming his muscles and searing his flesh. He stumbled forward, feet losing their perch and tumbling off the wall. The air embraced him, until the ground sent him spiraling back into black.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo I hope you enjoyed this chapter and the turn of events that occurred in this fic! ~~I bet my tags are beginning to make more sense, huh? haha~~
> 
> Thank you to everyone who leaves me kudos and comments!! Please drop a comment and tell me what you think of this plot twist, because I'm honestly dying to know what you all think |･ω･)
> 
> You can also come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!


	13. Intermission: Hauntingly Familiar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello all!! I'm so so glad to see that you enjoy the last several chapters, which I'm super relieved out!!
> 
> I hope you enjoy seeing where this story goes, because I promise that it'll be one hell of a ride (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Coran twirled his mustache with one hand as he scrolled through the holo-screen with a look of confusion knitting his brow. “There appears to be nothing wrong with the alarm system.” With the swipe of his hand, the screen disappeared as he shrugged, “There must be a small bug in the software. Nothing to worry about, I assure you. I’ll have Number Five look at it after Keith emerges.”

Hunk’s hands tightened into the front of his shirt, swallowing so harshly it was audible. Lance nodded in response to Coran’s explanation.

Casting a glance at the expression on Hunk’s face, it was evident that neither of them was convinced. The image of Keith dying, blood soaking into the front of his suit was too horrifying, too specific to be the fleeting thoughts of a anxiety-derived dream. There identical stories only decreased the likeliness of a nightmare fueled dream.

Shiro smiled weakly, casting a long glance at Keith before following Coran out of the room, pajama pants dragging at his heels. There was an exhaustion to his posture that Lance felt resonating in his bones and saturating his blood.

Sighing deeply, Lance rolled out his shoulders and slumped against the wall he’d fallen asleep against earlier. But sleep didn’t come as easily as before. He kept feeling the weight of Keith in his arms, drifting between consciousness and a slumber too close to death. And Keith’s words echoed in his mind, clear and ringing.

_“I saved you.”_

_“Yes, you did.”_

_“I finally did it.”_

Lance could still hear the bubbling of Keith’s words and the way his eyes couldn’t focus as he prayed to God in Spanish.

_“A ti, o señor, elevo mi alma.”_

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Lance wandered the halls of the castle. He stopped in the training room, desperate to work out the anxiety that sung in his muscles and twitched at his fingertips.

But the thought of fighting another battle made his stomach roll, mind unintentionally drifting back to the battle with Zarkon.

Lance spent the day playing Killbot Phantasm 1 with Pidge calmly sitting next to him and typing away at her computer. He let his mind be consumed with the underdeveloped plot of the game, pushing away any thoughts that dared carry a heavier weight.

Hunk visited them with lunch, smile weak and fingers even more heavily bandaged. Rubbing the back of his neck, he tried to commented on something Allura and Shiro had planned for today, noting his concern for their bloodshot eyes. Pidge barked a laugh, taking a huge bite out of the food goo Hunk brought, and Lance merely shrugged off his worry. Sighing, Hunk ended up joining Lance for some multiplayer rounds before leaving them to their own coping devices.

Eventually Lance’s fingers were raw and tired, and Pidge had leaned against the wall, computer slipping between her legs. Her glasses were pushed up and her lips were parted with shallow breaths.

After draping a blanket over Pidge’s sleeping form, Lance wandered the halls again, until he stopped outside the podbay, feet carrying him here without thought. The door opened with a soft woosh to the sight of Keith in the pod and that small smile on his lips.

“Lance,” Shiro’s voice was a whisper, perched against the wall beside Keith’s cryopod. His eyes were red as he ran his metallic hand through his hair. Lance was sure he didn’t look much better, dark bags of exhaustion sitting beneath his eyes.

As the days passed, Keith’s absence was only more poignant.

Crossing the room to sit next to Shiro, Lance folded his legs up to his chest and leaned back against the wall.

They sat like that for awhile in a cloying silence. There wasn’t much to say.

Lance’s eyes followed Keith’s relaxed form as if watching for another splotch of blood, another vivid hallucination. Yesterday, Coran said he wasn’t able to calculate how long Keith would need to be in the pod. He had fiddled with the code, but there was only so much he could do without endangering Keith’s life, only so much he could estimate. So they could only wait.

“Has Pidge started a bet on when Keith will be out yet?” Shiro huffed, a weak smile playing at his lips.

“That would be just like her,” Lance mumbled, always amazed at how Pidge could get them to focus on the positive, driven and almost blindsided by her determination to help her loved ones. “But no. I think we’re all a little too,” and he waved his hand, struggling to find the right word to describe the cloying emotions that filled his chest.

Exhaustion, so bone deep that it seemed to be synthesized in his marrow. Guilt that tightened his lungs and threatened to suffocate him if he allowed it a second to breathe. And joy like a shining beacon that seemed to out of place with everything at war within his heart.

“Everything will be alright,” Shiro whispered as if he was reassuring both of them, settling a warm hand on Lance’s shoulder.

  


**~~~~**

  


Lance didn’t realize he had fallen asleep until a blaring alarm woke him, a hauntingly familiar occurrence. Jumping to his feet, he bolted to Keith’s cryopod, feet carrying him in a sleep-addled and adrenaline-spiked craze.

And the scene was like a familiar nightmare: the spreading splotch of blood that consumed Keith’s chest and warped his expression from one of peace to pain and agony.

Bile crawled up Lance’s throat as he staggered a step backward. He barely registered Shiro’s sharp intake of breath when he stopped short next to the Blue Paladin.

The cryopod’s system was flashing red with warning, sputtering an alarm that echoed violently in the room around them.

Shaking his head, Lance attempted to comprehend the nightmare that flashed before their eyes. The pain that flashed across Keith’s features and the pallor of his skin, the death that seemed to settle so comfortably into his posture. Lance staggered backward, hands curling into fists at his sides.

The alarm stopped blaring and with a blink as the color returned to Keith’s cheeks, blood vanishing from the front of his suit.

“What the fuck?” Lance whispered as Shiro placed a firm hand on his shoulder, fingers tightening as if trying to steady himself along with Lance.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!! ((ps this chapter is super short, so I've giving you two chapters today haha and this will probably continue for a while due to the formatting of the fic!))
> 
> Drop a comment or a kudos, because you know how much they mean to me <3
> 
> Also you can come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!


	14. A Sweet Wildflower Rears Its Purple Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is based off the poem Fire-Flowers by Emily Pauline Johnson!
> 
> [The beautiful, wonderful, amazing art for this chapter is by Ren!](http://renstxne.tumblr.com/post/177195206235/goukakyuu-no-jutsu-he-shouted-and-spit-a)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, my dudes!

“Get up!” Kolivan yelled from his doorway, commanding and so hauntingly familiar.

Keith leapt to his feet, heart hammering in his chest, as he settled into a fighting stance with wary eyes. The tinge of faded pain traced the length of his ribs and settled against his sternum.

Kolivan just raised an eyebrow, a piece of red face paint cracking at the edges. “East Wall. The Galra are attacking,” he commanded, before marching off down the hallway.

Taking a moment to try to steady himself, Keith attempted to call the magic to the surface in the safety of his room. But it just simmered under his skin, a boiling pot with the lid on, pressurized to an almost unbearable level.

“Fuck!” Keith bellowed, anger curling his fingers, because there was evidently nothing he could do standing here alone in this room.

Bounding up the stairs, Keith saw Lance healing his arrow wound when he stumbled to the East Wall’s wall-walk.

Cursing under his breath, Keith jumped up on the edge of the parapet and braced himself. He pulled his arms back to his side, wrists touching, and hands splayed. “Kame,” he breathed deeply through his nose and crouched a little lower, “hame,” and thrust his hands forward, “ha!”

“Be quiznaking serious for once in your life, Keith!” Lance yelled right before Keith was struck with a bolt of energy and tumbled off the wall.

  


**~~~~**

  


“Get up!” Kolivan yelled from his doorway, arms crossed and commanding.

Keith sprinted from bed, ignoring the looming sense of dread and the remnants of pain that skittered along his ribs. His bare feet slapped the stone flooring as he climbed the stairs, missing the weight of his cloak at his back. But the fire was frantic beneath his skin, desperate to break loose and tarnish this battlefield.

Before Lance could even run to their post down the East Wall, Keith jumped up on the parapet.

He shoved his hands into different positions, hoping that he wouldn’t have to remember the exact hand signs from Naruto. Leaning backward, he shouted, “Goukakyuu no jutsu!” And he exhaled forward, praying to see a fireball or at least a spark of fire.

Nothing appeared.

And then he was falling and falling.

  


**~~~~**

  


So Harry Potter didn’t work. Or Dragon Ball Z. Or Naruto. Or Firaga from Final Fantasy and Kingdom Hearts -- not even when he stole a sword from a knight and shouted fire as loud as he could. Or any breathing techniques or that fire dance from Avatar: The Last Airbender. Or snapping his fingers like Roy Mustang from Fullmetal Alchemist.

Nothing fucking worked. And every time the fire seemed to burn brighter and hotter underneath his skin.

“Get up!” Kolivan shouted from his doorway, tone so familiar it made bile singe at the back of Keith’s throat.

Keith’s eyes snapped open, nodding slightly to Kolivan before he turned and marched down the corridor. With trembling hands, Keith grabbed his pillow and smothered himself with it. He screamed; emptied his lungs and felt the way the pain had hollowed out his chest and the way the ground felt when he fell, the facturing force that splintered his bones and sent him reeling into the next day. The pillow muffled his cry until he stopped screaming and threw it across the room.

Every time he climbed the wall, his legs trembled as if his body remembered the exact way it had shattered upon impact.

Keith shoved his feet into his boots and donned his red cloak, admiring its soft fabric for a second before clasping it at his neck and sprinting up the stairs. Lance crouched behind the safety of the wall, pulling the arrow out of his arm with a grunt.

He was mesmerized as Lance swirled his fingers and coated them with the ocean, pressing them with a grimace to his wound. It was as if the very ocean was at his very beck and call.

Keith exhaled and closed his eyes. This was Lance, but it wasn’t really _his_ Lance. This Lance had one side of his head shaved with a pattern. His eyes were harsh, calloused and burned. And his sunlight smile wasn’t the same; it was one that spoke more of tragedy than flirtation and laughter.

But the way his fingers moved was the same, lithe and gentle and expressive. It was with the same reverence and excitement that _his_ Lance shared stories that _this_ Lance spun the ocean.

He stepped forward and met Lance’s eyes, and God, they were the colors of the ocean.

“Coño,” Keith whispered and smiled to himself, remembering the way that Lance had taught him Spanish in their stolen moments at the castle, the stories he had spun, and the way he had given his days more life than death.

Sighing, he fought the dread singeing in his stomach and walked up to the parapet. He had no idea how to summon this fire. And at the thought, it burned beneath his skin, curling around his fingers and wrists. It honestly felt so much like Red in his mind, impatient and stubborn and furious yet so warm and comforting.

Standing before the parapet, he called to the fire imagining it was Red. He pleaded with it, asking it to assist him, to lend him its great, insurmountable poweress.

His hands jolted like a spark and fire rested in the palm of his hands. He could feel the warmth, the gentle caress of flames without the scorching pain. The pressure that sung just beneath his skin released in that instant and ignited the fire in his palms.

He had done it! He had finally summoned his fire.

His body felt lighter without the pounding pressure of fire coursing beneath it, lungs filled with helium and head floating above the clouds. Wiggling his fingers, he watched the fire dance to his command, sparking along his fingertips. It was as captivating as watching Lance collect wisps of the ocean.

Jumping up on the parapet, he shot a single burst of flame at an approaching knight, scorching his purple armor and sending him careening off his horse. The knight screamed and tore at the heating armor. It melted on his chest, pooling like mercury as it ate away at skin and bone.

And Keith laughed. The fire tickled the insides of his lungs and laughed along with him.

He snapped like Roy Mustang and sent a wall of fire in front of Galra soldiers with flowing cloaks and bone masks. Pulling his hands back, he shouted, “Kamehameha!” and thrust his hands forward as a burst of fire consumed a squadron of charging cavalry.

The fire teased his heart, and he laughed. A full-bellied laugh he hadn’t experienced in years, pure joy, so unadulterated and uncorrupted by the weight of the world.

An arrow glinted in the sunlight, slicing through the wind and spiraling straight toward him.

He flicked his wrist to incinerate it, letting its ashes drift in the wind. The fire burned brighter beneath his skin and surging out through his pores, so brightly that he was almost blinded. He tossed his head back and laughed as the fire crept up his throat.

“Goukakyuu no jutsu!” he shouted and spit a spiraling fireball at the charging masked Galra.

He pointed at a Galra knight about to strike down a white armored soldier, “Incendio!” And fire sprouted around the knight, engulfing him in a second.

And Keith laughed and laughed and inhaled the smell of charred bodies. High off the scent and ashes that settled on his tongue like snowflakes.

But suddenly, cool hands slapped against his ears and pulled him from the precipice.

Water flowed over his eyes and submerged his face. The fire sizzled and snarled against his skin, boiling the water that dared suppress the scent of his victory, the taste of his poweress. His flailing hands came in contact with warm skin. His fingers bit in, and the fire purred at him to burn, incinerate, destroy.

With a scream, he summoned the sparks to his fingertips, but the water forced itself between clenched teeth, coating his mouth with salty brine. Suffocating. And he was drowning, drowning in water that tasted like tears.

His fire flared, thrashing and desperate, against the water that lined his throat and blurred his vision. But with the lack of oxygen, the fire sizzled and retreated from his skin, the dancing confined to the pit of his stomach like embers.

He jerked from the hands that pressed against his cheeks and the water, gasping for air and clawing his hands out for a steadying presence. A firm hand smacked his back, and he coughed up water.

“What the hell was --”

“Are you fucking with me right now?” Lance’s snarl cut him off. He knelt behind Keith, face flushed and worried. Blood still trickled from the arrow wound, and there was a small scorch mark in the shape of Keith’s hand on Lance’s cloak.

Keith stumbled backward, confused at Lance’s sneer and the blatant mixture of horror and hatred filtering across his face.

“How could you let yourself be so easily Enthralled in the middle of battle?”

“Enthralled?” Keith whispered, watching the way Lance’s emotions fluttered beneath the flush of anger.

The familiarity sparked, and he knew ‘Enthralled’ was the name for what just happened. Knew that was the name for when the Blessings consumed and gnawed at sanity. Knew how vulnerable he’d made himself as a means of accessing the power, knew that enticed the Blessing to come roaring to life.

“Keep yourself in line,” Lance snarled and stood, a defiant set to his shoulders. Standing at the edge of the wall and holding his arms out, he trusted Keith to cover him and protect him from enemy fire. Keith watched the Blue Paladin extend his arms, as if reaching to the expanses of the ocean. Seconds before slapping his hands together, Lance’s lips moved silently as if in prayer. The crash of an enormous wave echoed seconds later as it engulfed half of the battlefield.

Keith looked to the field to see knights and cloaked Galra clawing at the water that consumed them. The knights desperately stabbed their swords into the soft soil for purchase only to have their fingers torn away from the hilts. The waves receded over the sides of the cliff along with a fourth of the Galra forces.

Lance jumped down from the wall, and Keith could see the glimmer in his eyes, the hint of magic, the glint of insanity. He clapped Keith on the shoulder, “That’s how you get it done, ponytail.”

With confidence in the set of his shoulders, Lance slumped against the wall, breathing heavy and strained, recovering from his great display of magic. He clasped his hands and hung his head low, chanting to himself.

Keith smiled to himself, maybe every Lance was a little religious.

Stepping up on the wall, Keith thought of the magic, the prayer, and the power that had just soared through his veins. The burn under his skin felt more ominous and dangerous, like it was ready to sear him if he moved incorrectly. He closed his eyes and whispered, “A ti, Diosa del fuego, elevo mi alma.”

The fire was instantaneous along the contours of his palm. He could feel the pull, the sweet whisper of crackling wood in his ears, the delicious purr that tempted him to surrender himself to the fire. And he almost opened his mind again, begged to this charring Goddess to grant him all of the power in the world. But he could still feel the haunting hands of Lance against his skin, cooling the conflagration that raged through his mind.

He snapped his wrist and divided the battlefield in two with the tremendous gust of fire. Masked Galran soldiers caught sight him, perched atop the East Wall. Their cloaks flew around them as they charged in his direction, plowing forward and sending bursts of electricity through metal swords and armor of the Voltron army.

Keith flinched as a bolt of energy struck him in the shoulder. In retaliation, he threw a ball of fire only to have it veer off course by the force at which someone yanked his cloak. Choking, he fell backward, scratching at the silver clasp pressed tight against his windpipe.

“Idiot!” Lance snarled, pulling Keith in close to his side. Keith struggled to regain his breathing, trapped tightly under Lance’s arm, “We can’t engage that many Galra Druids at once.” A bolt of energy stuck the wall, releasing dust from the stone face into the air.

Lance turned and peered over the edge of the wall. “There are twenty conjugating beneath us!” The wall shook again, “We need something that won’t leave us exposed for long.”

“An explosion!” Keith grabbed Lance’s shoulders, “Bring in a single wave from the North.”

Lance stood tall and extended his arms. Keith could hear his prayer on the soft ocean breeze, but he tuned it out, focusing on the fire that bubbled in his veins. In order for this to work in their favor, he would need to surrender more of his mind, opening his heart to this fearsome Goddess.

He wasn’t truly aware of the danger Enthralling could cause, but it was worth the risk to end the battle in their favor. Anything was worth the risk for Lance’s safety, for this cycle to finally end.

“A ti, Diosa del fuego, elevo mi alma.” The fire erupted on his skin, burning up his arms and neck in tendrils of playful flame.

A wave crashed upon the soft soil, charging toward the Galra Druids like a hungry beast. Several blasted at the cresting water with bolts of electricity, while others attempted to flee towards the safety of their calvary. But Keith wouldn’t let any of that happen.

He pleaded with the Goddess to lend him her power, opening his mind more than he had before. The feeling of gentle hands, warm and tender, guided his aim.

He launched a stream of fire at the rushing wave, superheating it until he was rocked backward into the pathway by the explosion. Air burst from his lungs with the force of the hit, and spittle flew from his lips along with a small whimper of pain. The fire raged at the pain, demanding retaliation. But the char of bodies and smoke of burning hair and flesh seemed to sate it enough for Keith to inhale and banish the flames to the pit of his stomach.

Lance’s eyes were wide as he gazed over the side of the wall before rushing to Keith’s side. Keith groaned as Lance checked his body for wounds. Swatting at Lance’s hands, “I’m fine.” He wiped the spit off his mouth with the back of his hands, “Did we get them?”

The water mage sighed, running both hands through his hair, one catching long strands and knots, the other running along the soft, shaven wave pattern. Glancing over the wall behind his head, Lance nodded. “We definitely got them.”

“ _What kind of stunt do you two think you were pulling?_ ” the posh accented voice echoed through Keith’s mind. His head snapped around to look into the largest window of the palace, set atop the widest pillar. Allura stood there, arms crossed and chin held high. Keith placed a single hand against his head.

“What the actual fuck?”

Lance sighed, leaning against the wall and kicking out his legs. He stuck a hand over the wall, middle finger up and presented.

“ _Lance, don’t make me cut that finger off._ ”

Lance scoffed a chuckle. “She’s never happy is she?” He rolled his eyes with a jovial smile, before closing eyes with a soft, exhausted sigh.

Keith crawled over to the wall, peering over the side. Over half of the Galra force was decimated. Limbs scattered across the grass, blood soaked in puddles and dripped from severed flesh in coagulated hunks, turning the grass to spindles of red.

There was still the clash of metal and knights fighting, stepping on splatters of bloody mud.

Suddenly the grass slithered up and caught a horse’s legs, forcing the Galra cavalryman to fly off his horse to the mercy of the Altean army.

Keith’s eyes were caught by a sudden flash of green standing on the wall not twenty feet from him. He smiled, remembering the way her arms wound around him, remembering waking up next to her every day and the sweetness of her voice. “ _I won’t tell Allura if you won’t._ ”

“You ready to go again?” Keith questioned, looking at the last several hundred men of the Galra army. They had begun to retreat slowly, pulling back and attempting to save what was left of their numbers. Keith watched Kolivan lead the charge forward, refusing to allow any Galra to leave their territory alive.

“Nah, I’d like to keep my sanity. Thank you very much,” Lance rolled his eyes, relaxing his body and unclasping his hands. There was an exhaustion in the slump of Lance’s shoulders and the weary smile on his face.

Keith turned to him, watching the way the clouded sunlight drew patterns across _this_ Lance’s slightly unfamiliar features. “Do you pray to her every time?” His voice was a whisper, almost lost to the roars and thunderous sounds of the battle below them.

“I don’t really need to.” With the flick of his wrist, he summoned some tendrils of ocean water to his fingers, playing with the bubbles. “Yemaya is really friendly and forgiving. So I pray to make sure to keep the distance between us, to remind myself that she’s a Goddess and has no right being closer to my heart.”

There was something unspoken in his words, something that tugged at his sense of familiarity, and suddenly, it was like he was sitting in the throne room again watching Allura take the middle seat -- the wide backed chair that looked so much larger against her slender frame. His stomach became heavy, Jowangshin, the Goddess of fire and life, thrashing in protest at the news of King Alfor’s death. Allura’s face was stoic, the perfect Queen, as she told her paladins how her father had trusted his Goddess too deeply and how she had devoured him slowly.

Keith could remember the dullness to King Alfor’s once steely and intellectual gaze. How he patted Keith’s arm and smiled at him like the King was simply pretending to know who he was -- like his mind had drifted somewhere else for the entirety of their small conversation.

The fire purred in his stomach, and Keith nodded back to reality, the spark of familiarity dying slowly in his chest.

“They’re retreating!” a soldier shouted, thrusting his sword into the air. Keith watched the last of the Galra army run through the hills in the distance, hopefully never to be seen again.

Lance placed a heavy hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Breakfast?” Keith shrugged and Lance took off toward the stairwell, lacing his fingers behind his head, “Goddess, I’m starving!”

Keith chuckled and followed after him.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has been so so supportive of this fic!! Honestly, I was so worried about how this fic would be received --especially since I've spent about a year working on it -- so to see how you all love it so much and leave me such wonderful comments really makes my day!! ((especially after the horrible and kind of confusing plot twist I pulled on you this week!))
> 
> Thank you all for being so supportive (≧◡≦) ♡
> 
> Oh, and for all those who are curious, I did have some minor foreshadowing of this slightly in the first chapter haha
> 
> _Turning back to face Lance, he smiled weakly, reaching out to stroke Lance’s cheek as if to tether down this feeling of disbelief that had surrounded his mind like fog since the end of the battle._
> 
>  
> 
> _The moment their flesh touched there was a large electric shock that flared in his fingertips and warped his entire body. Stumbling backwards, he grabbed at his wrist as the room spun. Axis tilting and walls undulating. Nausea tightened his stomach. His head pounded. Fingers trembling, he grappled for support as his vision distorted. His skin felt too tight and there were flashes before his eyes of scenes he could have never imagined or found the words to describe: ash and blood and a million things that made his heart shutter._
> 
>  
> 
> please let me know what you think and leave a comment! Or you can come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!
> 
> hope you enjoyed this chapter ♡


	15. Intermission: Normal Never Stays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith's been in the cryopod 11 days, and no one has an explanation for what's happening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your wonderful comments and kudos!! I welcome you back to the angst fest!!
> 
> [Please go check out the beautiful, wonderful, amazing art for last chapter!](http://renstxne.tumblr.com/post/177195206235/goukakyuu-no-jutsu-he-shouted-and-spit-a)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter!

By the third day, everyone in the castle had seen Keith’s mysterious deaths or whatever the hell they were supposed to call them. And Lance hadn’t slept well since, too tortured by the visions of Keith in the pod, blood staining his clothes and face twisted in a silent scream. Too tortured by the memories of Keith’s limp weight in his arms and the whispered prayer he’d spoken before the cryopod froze his smile.

Lance couldn’t help but pace around the podbay at all times of night, eyes fixated on Keith’s still form. But eventually he’d slump against the wall and fall asleep, legs tired and feet aching. And he would eventually wake to the blaring alarm pronouncing Keith’s strange death.

One the 8th night, Pidge started sitting with him, perched against the wall and tapping away at her computer.

Lance crossed his arms, frown pulling at the corners of his lips. “You know you don’t have to sit with me, right? I know Hunk is worried, but I’m fine, okay,” he mumbled, fingers biting into his biceps and slumping farther in on himself.

“I barely sleep anyway,” Pidge shrugged, eyes never leaving her computer screen. There were bags under her eyes, appearance lessened under the film of her glasses, but they hadn’t faded even when they rescued her family -- Matt and Sam were becoming accustomed to the way of life on the Altean ship, voices still holding the wonder all the paladins had before the war and sacrifices.

Her exhaustion was apparent in her sharpening temper and her frequent yawns.

“Thought you could use the company,” she commented, gaze rising to meet his, sparking with determination that Lance knew she wouldn’t leave even if he tried to force her.

Without an answer, she turned her attention back to her work, because of course there were still things Voltron was needed for, because liberating the universe didn’t magically happen even after the majority of the Galra surrendered. Earth was still some time away, for all of them.

So Lance couldn’t really afford to spend the night pacing the podbay or slumped against its cold walls until the crick in his neck woke him. Neither could Pidge. But the only place he found some solace was in the podbay, so that’s where he stayed.

The morning of the 11th day, Lance rolled out his neck and rubbed the last of the sleep from his eyes. The twinge in his neck had gotten worse, even though Hunk had dragged in Lance’s bedding after the third night, claiming he was tired of seeing Lance sleep on the floor.

“Morning, sunshine,” Pidge joked, eyes puffy and staring through her glasses that sat on the edge of her nose.

Sitting up, Lance groaned as he rolled his head, searing pain radiating from his spine. “What time is it?” he grumbled, a yawn teasing at his lips.

“About 10:30,” Pidge commented.

Lance nodded, mind taking a minute to fully comprehend the full impact of her statement.

Staggering to his feet, he sprinted to Keith’s cryopod, hands slamming against the glass. But Keith was still smiling that peaceful smile without a speck of blood on his clothing, without even a hint of what had happened all of the previous mornings.

“Did I sleep through the alarm?” confusion laced his voice as he slowly turned to face Pidge.

She met his gaze over the screen of her computer. “There wasn’t one.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> Come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!! ヽ(・∀・)ﾉ


	16. Like Some Gentle Spirit Sorrow-Fed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith finally learned how to control his fire powers and survived the battle against the Galra!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to the angst fest! Thank you to everyone for your amazing support and love (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡
> 
> This chapter title is from the poem Fire-Flowers by Emily Pauline Johnson (◕‿◕✿)
> 
> Also a brief warning for this chapter: the suicide tag is present in this chapter. Please stay safe out there <3

Lance had laced his fingers behind his head and casually walked down the stairs, leading Keith through a confusing number of hallways until they’d reached the dining hall. After walking through a buffet of food, Keith had a disappointing spread of porridge and ale.

He slumped on the wooden bench of a table Lance chose, unenthusiastic about even trying this food. Dipping a spoon into the porridge, he watched it fall off the utensil in large splattering clumps.

A firm hand clapped on his shoulder, and Keith turned around on the wooden bench to see Shiro behind him. He ignored the conversation in front of him, distracted by how Shiro looked: hair was completely black with the strong scar across the bridge of his nose, and there was a lightness to his eyes that Keith thought was only a memory from before Kerberos.

Shiro’s soft, warm, human hands nuzzled into Keith’s hair. “I heard from Kolivan that one fire mage almost slept through the battle,” Shiro joked as Keith swatted at his hands. Shiro pulled back laughing as Keith smoothed back his high ponytail.

“Shut it, Shiro,” Keith grumbled, crossing his arms, but his tone didn’t portray much irritation, still too mystified at the lightness to Shiro’s demeanor.

Lance smiled with a scoop of thick porridge in his mouth. “We all know Keith sleeps like the dead.” Shiro chuckled in response, and Keith couldn’t stop the sudden stiffening of his muscles or the memories that flooded him: the scent of blood, the weight of Lance in his arms, the endless depression, and the way death seemed to follow him like a shadow.

The girl sitting next to Lance chuckled at Lance’s comment, hand resting on his forearm and playing with the embroidered edges of his cloak. She that hadn’t introduced herself when she’d marched up to their table only moments after them sitting. He’d been a little to distracted by the gruel they’d been given for breakfast to even after for her name.

She had a multitude of small braids, pulled back with a delicate headband. The entire time she’d been sitting with them, she’d leaned over to whisper in Lance’s ear. The blue paladin choked on the bite of porridge in his mouth trying not to laugh at her comment.

“The Queen wants to see us.” Shiro smiled lightly before turning, his single braid wiping around his shoulder. His black cloak flowed around his feet as he marched toward the East exit of the dining hall.

Lance winked at the girl, chugging the rest of his ale. Dramatically bending forward and flourishing out his cloak, he kissed the girl’s delicately gloved hand. Keith scoffed, crossing his arms and following Shiro out of the dining hall.

Hunk and Coran were already in the suite when Keith and Lance followed Shiro and Pidge in.

Allura sat at a large oak desk, precious papers scattered around her with an open ink jar and several wet quills at her right hand. She wasn’t looking up at them, too focused on her work. Coran stood over her shoulder and pointed at something on one of the papers, whispering something to her.

The door shut quietly behind them as to not disturb the Queen.

Pidge stood next to Keith, elbowing him in the side. She had cut slits in the sides of her cloak, her arms sticking through and poised on her hips. The hem of her cloak was embroidered with small floral details as it swayed around her calves. Her hair was pulled back in a single braid that cascaded to her hips, thick and golden.

Allura set down her quill and looked up at her paladins smiling sweetly.

“Today was a very important win for us. However, I am afraid that this is only the beginning.” She folded her hands in front of her. The sun appeared from behind the clouds, shining blindingly through the windows behind Allura, hiding her expression in shadow.

Shiro shifted next to Keith, hand resting on the sword at his side, “May I ask why you suspect that, Highness?”

“It’s because this morning’s battle wasn’t a full-fledged attack, my boy,” Coran piped up from behind the Allura. He picked up a piece of paper from Allura’s desk, rubbing his broad, orange mustache. “Our spies within the Galra forces have informed us that their army spans at least 25,000 men. The force we were met with today was barely 3,000.” He placed the paper back on the table and cleared his throat, “My best guess is that they were testing our defenses.”

Coran pulled his stiff sleeves down before lacing his hands behind his back, chest forward and regality in the set of his shoulders. Keith found comfort in looking at him. He wasn’t much changed for the Coran Keith was familiar with. His hair was in a small ponytail at the base of his neck, and he wore a basic blue and white tunic.

If Keith looked at him long enough, he could almost imagine he was back on the castleship -- not stranded in some alternate reality with no idea what was going on.

Allura sighed, drawing Keith’s attention back to her. Her traditional circlet was more extrondinatrily decorated with blue stones that reflect on the walls. Her hair curled around her shoulders and cascading down her back.

“Shiro,” the captain of the guard stiffened when the Queen spoke his name, “increase training regiments as well as the number of guards during patrols.” Shiro nodded curtly in response. “For my mages, I encourage you to visit your temples and connect with your Goddess. May they favor you on the day of battle.”

They all nodded stiffly, for no one defines the queen. Allura turned her eyes to Hunk, who stood tall with a small, golden cape that barely passed his elbows. There was a smudge of soot across his forehead. His expression was crafted into stillness, hands folded in front of him. “Hunk?”

“Yes, my Queen?” Hunk bent to a knee before her. His eyes were lowered to the ground, the perfect example of a loyal subject. To see Hunk so stern and submissive made Keith’s stomach roil. This was nothing like the Hunk he knew, the jovial one that made sarcastic comments and off-handed jokes, the one that threw up in Lance’s lion the first day he’d flown them to space.

These were his dearest friends and yet they weren’t. They were crafted in a different mold, shaped to their environment, but they were still his friends. His family.

“I request that you make triple the number of arrows you have already prepared.” Hunk’s hand twitched at his side, but he said nothing, “I would also like two swords for every knight as well as magicked daggers for all of my paladins.”

“It shall be done, your Highness.” Hunk responded before rising to his feet. Keith could see the way he bounced on the balls of his feet slightly, and the way that he bit his lip. It was the same expression he wore when standing in the kitchen trying to find the solution to a problem.

Allura picked up a quill, dipping it into the ink bottle, “You are dismissed.” They all bowed bringing their right hands to their hearts and bending deeply at the waist. Keith pivoted on the ball of his foot to follow the other paladins out of the room. Pidge was already making conversation with Shiro, and Keith smiled at the look in her eyes and the lightness of her smile.

“Lance. Keith.” Allura’s voice was stern, “Please stay a moment.”

Lance froze up next to him, joints locking. He swallowed harshly, turning to face the queen with a forced smile.

Keith swallowed and pivoted to see his Queen in full light, the sun hidden behind the clouds once again. Her face was pinched, lips set tight and jaw clenched. “I would like an explanation for what happened during the battle today.”

Lance licked his lips, and Keith felt the blue paladin’s energy shift from something timid to a facade of flirtatious confidence. The boy beside him, deepened his smile and walked up to the queen’s desk, placing a hand and leaning all of his weight on one hip. “Queen Allura, darling, we got the job done. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”

Lance yelped as he quickly drew his hand off the desk as Allura jabbed at it with her sharpened quill. But there was a playfulness to her smirk that vanished the second she turned her gaze to Keith.

“Keith,” her gaze was as fierce as a typhoon, “I felt how Enthralled you were today. If Lance hadn’t been there to pull you out of it, I fear for all of us. Jowangshin is not a compassionate Goddess.”

“She is the bringer of life, your Highness,” Keith ground out through clenched teeth. The fire bubbled against his stomach, his anger the perfect kindling. But rather than the consuming hunger he had felt before, it was warm and comforting, supporting him and tickling at his ribs. “Do not disrespect her in my presence again.”

Lance bit his lip and laced his hands behind his head, as if he was trying to hid his amusement at Keith’s response.

Allura nodded, “I apologize. I meant no disrespect.”

Keith nodded and turned to leave, the fire slowly settling to embers.

“Be sure it doesn’t happen again,” the queen stated in a strict tone, and Keith waved a single hand over his shoulder in acknowledgement. Lance danced backward toward Keith, pointing a single finger as indication that he was following Keith.

The door slammed behind them, and Keith huffed an irritated sigh, marching down the hallway.

But Lance’s laughter stopped him. The blue paladin was doubled over behind him, grasping at his stomach and leaning against the wall for support. There were tears at the corners of his eyes as he continued to chuckle.

Keith’s heart broke at the familiar sight. This was _his_ Lance.

His laughter was like bells, ringing through the hallway. Bells so large they shook the whole building when they rang. His face was so at peace, eyes crinkled and lips split wide in a bright smile. His features didn’t show any of the harsh upbringing Keith had gotten accustomed to seeing on _this_ Lance. There was this innocence he wanted to embrace.

Biting his lip, Keith closed his eyes and struggled with the wave of emotion that threatened to drown him.

He had left Lance and the team, saved them all and woken up here. But where was he? Still in the healing pod? Was this just some convoluted cryopod nightmare, induced from lack of blood and prolonged exposure to druid magic?

And how was he supposed to end this cyclical nightmare?

“I can’t believe you just said that. To the Queen!” Lance burst out, eyes opening and his smile so bright. Keith felt his heart stutter and a flush dance up the back of his neck.

Clapping a hand on Keith’s shoulder, he steadied himself, stomach hurting from the raucous laughter. “Like you seriously just told off the Queen of Altea!” He laughed harder, continually slapping Keith on the shoulder, until Keith brushed him off.

“She shouldn’t have said something so disrespectful about Jowangshin,” Keith huffed and crossed his arms, aware that he was acting like an insolent child, but he couldn’t stop himself. He felt the fire giggle in his stomach.

Lance smiled and pulled at Keith’s arm. “Alright, let’s do as the Queen commands.” Pacing in front of him and lacing his hands behind his head, Lance whistled a quiet tune in the hallway. Keith followed, trying not to let the sight of Lance laughing bring him to tears.

The temple was close, tucked in the inner area of the castle. Lance casually strode past the massive oak doors, not even stopping to admire the intricate carvings and platings of gold leaf. Keith’s steps slowed as he entered the temple, amazed at the beauty that surrounded him.

Directly before him was a large stained glass window, taking up the majority of the wall. It was detailed and depicted an ethereal woman with her hands extended. In front there was a small altar where gifts were presented and candles lit. Several decorative pillows lined the area in front of the low seated table.

Lance walked to the nearest alcove on the left where the whole area was tinted blue from the sun shining through the stained glass. The window was crafted entire from differing shades of blue, depicting a woman pouring water from her palms and creating the oceans. Without hesitation, Lance kneeled on the embroidered pillows, summoning water to his fingertips and placing it in an offering bowl. He bowed his head and began to pray.

This must be the shrine dedicated to Lance’s Goddess, Yemaya.

Keith looked to his right and saw two more identical alcoves decorated in green and yellow, stained glass unilluminated by the morning sunlight.

Walking a couple steps forward, he was coated in red light that stretched across the aisle. To his left was a small alcove painted in brilliant red from the sunlight. The stained glass was crafted entirely of differing shades of red: Jowangshin stood with light pink skin and rippling flames for hair. She cradled ire in her bare hands, but a stray flame lept from her hands and landed on the earth below to give life and another to produce fire for warmth.

He kneeled on the pillows, knees sinking and digging against decorative beading. Snapping his fingers and calling for a fraction of fire, holding a flame on his finger tip. He lit a small red candle and bowed his head.

Keith had never been much of a religious person, despite his aunt debating on sending him to a Christian academy before she decided on the Galaxy Garrison. She had a picture of Jesus in every room of the house, and Keith had fallen asleep for six months staring directly at a very detailed picture of Jesus Christ -- so little to say that was six months that he kept both hands “praying to Jesus” rather than in his pants.

But bowing his head to Jowangshin, he simply talked to her like she was Red. Rather than a purring in his mind, there was a bubbling in his stomach to show her support.

He asked her question after question, the ones that had been spinning in his mind so desperate for answers. Her flames whispered against his lungs, begging him to open his mind so that she could describe the secrets of the universe.

With the small shake of his head, she stopped her proposition.

So he continued the day, telling stories and talking about anything he could think of. The fire even licked at his lungs in jest when he made a joke under his breath. And there was one point in time when Keith laughed so blatantly, Lance shushed him.

After some time, there was a soft tap of hot fingers on his shoulder. Keith opened his eyes to see Lance standing next to him, hands on his hips and a small smile on his face, “Ready to go? I’ve starving, and I don’t want my stomach growling echoing in the temple.”

Lance smiled casually, but there were beads of sweat on his forehead that he casually wiped away on his sleeve. Keith stood and shook out his sore legs.

As they walked to the dining hall, they made casual conversation, distracting Keith from whatever unappetizing meal the kitchen would cook next.

Pidge stood outside the entrance to the dining hall, hands clasped behind her back and rolling back and forth on her feet. She smiled brightly when she saw them, rushing up to them and announcing, “Queen Allura invited us to eat in her chamber so we can talk about potential battle strategies.”

Hunk exited the dining hall carrying a tray piled high with turkey legs and vegetables balanced in his hands. Shiro stood behind him with a jug of ale clasped in his arms.

Keith tried to play off the growl that sounded from his stomach that the sight of delicious food, but Lance snorted a laugh. With blush creeping up the back of his neck, Keith strode forward and offered to carry the tray for Hunk.

“Don’t let him take it! He’ll run off and eat it all without us,” Lance joked, eyes glittering with amusement.

Scowling, Keith crossed his arms and marched at the front of the group, ignoring Lance’s muffled chuckle.

When they walked into Allura’s office, they saw Coran setting up the circular table from the corner of the room and placing the chairs around it. Hunk set the tray down while Shiro filled up goblets with ale.

“This looks delicious, Hunk,” Lance exclaimed, snatching up a turkey leg before even sitting down. Keith rolled his eyes at how carnivorous Lance was, even after he’d made a joke at Keith’s expense.

“Oh, I didn’t make it,” Hunk confessed, pulling out a chair and sitting at the table. “Sal did, actually using my recipe.” He scratched at the back of his neck, ears tinting pink with a flush of embarrassment.

Lance nodded as he tore into a bite of the turkey leg, closing his eyes in dramatic ecstasy and moaning at the taste. Keith smiled at his vigor, some of the enthusiasm and laughter from before lightening the features on his face.

Keith sat next to Lance, filling his plate with food and taking a swig from his ale.

Shiro turned to Allura, “Will you be joining us soon?”

Allura nodded, standing while reading a report. Sitting next to Shiro, she reached for a turkey leg without looking up from her paper, ink smudged over her palm. Shiro grabbed her hand, making Allura pause and Lance choke on a bite of turkey leg. He chugged his ale as he fought to swallow the large bite of meat. Keith patted him lightly on the back, noting the warmth and slight perspiration on Lance’s skin.

The Queen’s eyes didn’t drift from her paper, but there was a slight blush on her dark skin as Shiro lightly wiped the ink from her palm. “Pardon me, your Highness.”

Lance sighed as he pulled the now half-full goblet from his lips. With an exaggerated smile, he slammed the glass back to the table, but it slipped from his fingers spilling on the plate of food.

“Sorry,” he mumbled like his throat was forcibly held open. But he cleared his throat, one elbow leaning heavily on the table. There was a glossiness to his eyes and the sweat still gathered on his brow.

“Lance,” Hunk tilted his head to the side, “are you okay? You don’t look so good.”

“I’m --” Lance began, but he cut himself off with the shake of his head. Leaning over the table, Lance vomited on the ground, back hunching and muscles tensing against the force.

“Lance!” Keith shouted, jumping to his feet and grabbing Lance by the chin. Panic thrummed through his blood, quickening his heart and resurfacing all of those memories he’d fought so hard to keep buried.

Liquidy tendrils of vomit coursed down Keith’s fingers as his hands trembled to hold Lance still. The blue paladin’s eyes wouldn’t focus, and his mouth kept hanging low as if he was anticipating throwing up again. Lance’s skin was slick with sweat beneath Keith’s fingers, a claminess that was almost familiar to his touch.

Everything that he’d fought so hard for felt like it was crumbling in his fingers like sand in the tide.

There was a slight bubbling of spittle at Lance’s lips as his body lost any tension and fell into Keith. Hunk sprinted from his seat to stabilize the blue paladin and set him down on a small couch pushed to the side of the room.

Keith was opening Lance’s eyes, fingers trembling and heart hammering with the speed of his frantic thoughts. His eyes were bloodshot with pupils so large they threatened to swallow the oceanic blue of his irises. _(This couldn’t be happening!)_ His breathing was so shallow and light; he was about to pass out under Keith’s watchful gaze. _(Not again. Not again!)_ His skin was burning beneath Keith’s fingertips. _(No!)_ His pulse was slowing, and the bubbles from his lips stopped forming as his eyes glazed over.

_No!_

Keith grabbed at Lance’s cheeks, shaking him. “Lance.” He slapped at his skin, waiting for those eyes to open or those lithe fingers to slap him back. The panic that simmered at the surface of his skin overwhelmed him in a whirlpool of emotions that threatened to drown him. “Lance! Stay with me, goddamnit!!”

A firm hand pulled him away from Lance’s body, dragging him across the stone floor. He was frantic, limbs flailing as if he could do anything to stop the scene from playing out before him. But the grip just tightened against him, and Keith glazed up. Shiro stood above him, gaze hardened and the look in his eyes so familiar.

Hunk placed a steadying on Lance’s chest only to pull it back with shock when he didn’t feel a heartbeat. But Keith could tell in the limb nature to Lance’s limbs and the lidded gaze to his eyes that he was dead.

Hunk’s gaze hollowed when he turned to face them, eyes fixated on the ground.

“Lance!” Keith cried, feeling his heart drop from his chest and shatter among the fire that was expanding in his abdomen.

This couldn’t be fucking happening.

He couldn’t be spirited to another reality only to watch Lance die again, trapped in this never ending spiral of days where his only light burned so bright that it fluttered out by the end of the day.

Loss carved itself a new home in his chest, settling amongst his ribs and his bleeding heart.

He ripped away from Shiro’s grip and crawled to Lance’s side with trembling limbs. He hardly felt the way the uneven floor dug into his knees.

His hand was shaking as he pushed a lock of long hair behind Lance’s ear. And he almost laughed, remembering the first time Lance had died. Remembering the cold bite of the cryopod on Lance’s skin.

But _this_ Lance didn’t look peaceful: eyes wide open and jaw hung low, lips parted and covered in chunks of vomit and foamed spittle. Using his cloak, Keith wiped Lance’s face clean, fingers trembling at the deceptive warmth of Lance’s skin.

His voice was a whisper, “There you go.”

With a gentle touch, he closed Lance’s eyes, unable to look at the bloodshot quality and glossiness.

He rested his head on Lance’s chest, closing his eyes and pretending that the racing heartbeat in his ears wasn’t his own. Chin trembling as a means to hold back tears, his fingers bit into the plush fabric of the couch. He inhaled to steady himself, only to realize that this Lance smelled the same as _his_ Lance. He would know the scent of the sheets that rocked him to sleep for nights on end anywhere -- vanilla and cedar.

His sob broke him. Because he already understood what had to happen. He already knew he had to save Lance. Already knew that he was destined to live this day again and again until this Lance was saved.

The devastation he fought off for so long consumed him. Because just when he had succeeded, he was tethered to another day. Tethered to an almost impossible task. The relief that he had felt when he saved Lance almost ravished him.

There was no relief here.

The fire tickled at his heart, begging for him release, to lean on Jowangshin for comfort, that she could heal all. She was the life giver.

He nuzzled his head into Lance’s chest, and gave in -- the acceptance nothing like the depression that had thrown him out the airlock, but so similar they sung en tandem.

Fire snapped at his skin, sparking from deep within his heart. Crackled around him like he was kindling. Whipped out from his flesh in consuming, hungry tendrils. He reached up and dug his hands into Lance’s tunic.

“Keith!”

The fire sprouted from his fingernails as they clutched the fabric tighter and tighter. There was the scent of burned skin and hair. The feeling of the woolen tunic beneath him disappearing between his fingers, turning to ash. Keith scratched at Lance’s flesh.

If Jowangshin was the life giver, couldn’t she just give Lance back to him?

The fire exploded around him as if in response to his question. Sparks landed and consumed. She purred to him, quietly, comforting him and shushing his sobs.

Keith’s head flew backward, and he cried. The wail tore from his chests with gusts of fire. Slowly, oh so slowly his hands lost purchase on Lance’s tunic, and Keith had to keep scrambling for parts of Lance to clutch, to hold onto, to capture.

This Lance may not have been his Lance, but it was Lance. His laughter and smile and horrible flirting and intellect and sense of competition and Goddess, all the things that made Lance _Lance_.

He pressed his palms to his face, surrounded by nothing but the remaining ashes of Lance and the couch he’d died on. He just wished the fire would consume him too.

She tickled at the base of his spine, promising peace and serenity. The fire around him burned with such rage it tinged blue, spiraling up from his body like a pyre of vengeance.

He extended his fingers and summoned blue flames to the tips. He chuckled, imagining that it was the ocean bubbling around his fingers. Inhaling, he could almost smell the salty brine of the water and how it bent to Lance’s will.

And with an exhale, Keith released himself fully to the flames.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter!!
> 
> Thank you to everyone for your amazing comments! I genuinely love all of them, and they make me smile all day (°◡°♡) so comments and kudos mean the world to me, and I love it when you let me know how you feel!
> 
> Feel free to come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!


	17. Intermission: Nothing Gold Can Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey-o my dudes, I want to apologize for the missed updates. Ya girl went through a bad depressive episode this past week (oT-T)尸
> 
> But I decided that instead of waiting until tomorrow that I would update today and tomorrow to try to give back what y'all have missed!
> 
> Sorry for the delay but I hope you like this murder-mystery arc!!

After waking peaceful to the endless silence of the podbay, the rest of the day was tense as Lance waited for the other shoe to drop, for the bad news that always coincided with the good. Anticipation thrummed in the air like electricity as a sense of dread settled on Lance’s shoulders and into well-worn lines of his features.

Hunk had brought Lance and Pidge breakfast on a floating tray. Sitting down beside them, they all crossed their legs and distracted themselves with conversation, even as their eyes drifted towards the cryopod.

Keith hadn’t died that morning, and the hope in Shiro’s expression was painful to see. The bags under his eyes were lighter and there was a glimmer in his eyes, a lilt to his voice, and a fragile smile on his lips that belied his optimism.

He had ushered everyone from the podbay to the training room with that familiar enthusiasm no one had seen. Allura had prepared a couple exercises for them, and it was evident in her stiff posture that she hoped a more normal schedule would help ease the anxiety that consumed the castle.

There hope was suffocating.

During the exercises, panic was rushed like fire in his veins, unable to focus on anything besides the kickback of his bayard in his hands which each shot. His thoughts were scattered, left in hallways and imprinted in footprints marched around a cryopod.

“Gotta keep up, sharpshooter,” Pidge called out, chuckling the first few times that Lance had walked into the invisible walls. But her humor quickly turned to concern.

Lance could see the skepticism on Pidge’s face, resonating with the disbelief in Keith’s improving condition. But she shared small smiles with Shiro and couldn’t hide the extra energy she had when blocking lasers and fighting the gladiator. Her hope was undeniable.

Hunk was the most tentative out of all of them. Nervous and frightened and whispering that maybe one person should stay with Keith at all times -- just in case.

Neither Hunk or Lance could say something in the face of the hope they so desperately wanted to believe in.

Allura assured them, placing a firm hand on Hunk’s shoulder, “Let us take this as a good sign. We cannot waste another day sitting in front of Keith’s cryopod.” Lance stiffened at that comment, knowing that Allura wasn’t directing it towards him, but a flush crept up his neck as guilt gnawed at his heart. “We cannot stop, because the universe still needs Voltron.”

But there was no Voltron without Keith, a cynical part of Lance whispered, curling around his ribs and puncturing claws into his organs. He could see that thought mirrored in Shiro’s pinched gaze and Pidge’s set shoulders.

Before Allura could say anything else, red lights flashed across the training room, plunging them into a panic as the alarm buzzed over the intercom -- piercing and loud and everything they’d all feared.

Like an undertow of ice over his mind, terror seized him as his bayard clattered to the ground.

Then they were all sprinting down the hallways, alarm echoing and lights flashing and guiding their way to the podbay. They all broke through the entrance just in time to see the last fractions of Keith drift into ashes.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿
> 
> Also thanks to everyone who leaves comments and kudos, you honestly mean the world to me <3
> 
> Come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!


	18. It Hides the Scars with Almost Human Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊˚
> 
> The chapter title is from the poem Fire-Flowers by Emily Pauline Johnson! ✿

“Get up!” Kolivan yelled from his doorway. “Kogane! Get up!”

Before Keith opened his eyes, he smelled the remnants of smoke in the air, the scent of seared skin and charred hair. Tightening his fingers into the woolen blanket, he could still feel clumps of ash underneath his fingernails. But the warm caress of the blanket was nothing compared to the way Jowangshin’s fire cradled him to a dreamless sleep.

A desperate part of himself begged him to keep his eyes closed, to deny all of the previous days as a cryopod induced nightmare. But the sight of Lance’s glossy eyes and the foaming spittle sticking to his lips like seafoam at the crest of a dying drove him to wakefulness.

Lance had been poisoned.

He was the only one to eat the lunch from the kitchens -- prepared by cooks specifically for the Queen and the paladins.

Was this an assassination attempt for Allura? Designed to take the Alteans down from the inside while the Galra marched on from the front, taking the castle by force?

Dread like a bitter undertow dragged him down fathoms below the glittering surface, like an anchor tied to his foot. He struggled against the panic that forced itself down his aching, empty throat and seeded itself in his lungs.

Jumping from bed, his movements were clumsy, disoriented as he shoved his feet into his leather boots and grabbed his cloak. Clasping it around his neck, he strode down the hallway.

As soon as he crested the stairs, Keith saw Lance striding way toward him down the wall-walk of the East Wall. His grin was too bright for a battle, causing Keith to flinch at the sight of him and that sunlight smile.

“Keith!” Lance shouted and waved slightly, his cloak catching in the breeze.

Nodding in response, Keith settled himself behind the wall, watching Lance perch above and send a prayer to his Goddess. At the thought of it, Jowangshin purred to him again, promising that she didn’t forget his sacrifice, how he’d fully offered himself to her.

Lance opened his eyes and slapped his hands together.

The sound of the waves was ungodly. Silent until it engulfed the battlefield with a crash and the splendor of foamed sapphires. There was a distance, a cloudiness, in Lance’s eyes that made Keith flinch at the all too familiar sight. He could still see Lance’s limp body on the couch, feel the ash settle in his lungs, and fire evaporating his tears like a gentle caress from Jowangshin’s fingers.

Lost in those eyes, Keith didn’t register the sounds of the battle until Lance cursed. A single arrow jutted from his shoulder, embedded into the belly of the muscle, fletching feathers tinted purple. Stepping back off the parapet, Lance’s hand was already covered in blood by the time Keith caught him.

The wound seemed more serious than any of the previous times as the blood coated the space between Lance’s fingers.

“Nice fucking cover, Keith,” Lance ground out through clenched teeth.

“I’m sorry,” Keith whispered, placing a delicate hand atop Lance’s bloody one. His fingertips sought forgiveness for cradling ashes. “I’m so sorry, Lance.” He met the blue paladin’s eyes, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

Lance pulled back from Keith’s touch, blush igniting his features. “It’s just an arrow wound. I’m not dying or anything,” he mumbled.

With a grimace, the blue paladin pulled out the arrow and summoned healing water to his fingers.

Keith’s eyes strayed to the way the water bubbled around Lance’s fingers as if eager to serve him. Dragging his gaze away, Keith moved to stand at the edge of the parapet as a sting of indignation caught in his stomach. He didn’t even have to whisper a prayer for fire to spark at his fingertips while Jowangshin whispered in his ear, purring battle tactics and thirsting for the scent of char.

And Keith listened to everything she said, revealing in the scent of death and the power that filled his bones like molten lava.

When he was like this, nothing could stop him. Not death. Not this inescapable day. Not even goddamn fate.

He was drunk on the unfamiliar taste of victory.

Eventually Lance stood beside him, placing a cool hand on his shoulder. Lance’s eyes were clear, free of any godly influence. But he wouldn’t meet Keith’s gaze as he turned to face the battle, furrowing his brow and one hand gripped his healed arrow wound. And Keith was unaware of what Lance could have seen in his eyes to make him look so conflicted.

The Galra retreated with a cheer from the Altean army.

They won without the need of the steam explosion, avoiding Allura’s telepathic reprimand, magic given by the black Goddess: giver of the mind and intellect. Her blessings were varied and always powerful, and their Queen’s was no exception.

“Goddess, I’m starving,” Lance sighed, lacing his fingers behind his head as they marched toward the dining hall.

Keith played with his porridge as the girl, the one with golden braids and a flirtatious smile sat next to Lance. Keith felt his grip tighten on his spoon, ignoring Lance’s tone when he talked to her.

“Is there a new Goddess or are you normally this unearthly beautiful?” Lance’s voice was sultry, a serious tone of flirting that Keith had never heard his Lance use. It sent shivers up his spine and tightened coil of something bitter and cold in his stomach.

The girl laughed and slapped at Lance’s arm, “Lance, you play too much.”

“It’s never a jest with you, my Goddess Nyma.”

Keith spat out a spoonful of his porridge back into the bowl, “Nyma?!” he squeaked, eyeing the girl that saddled up close to Lance on the bench. Her bodice was purposefully too tight to accent her ample chest. She tilted her head to the side, smiling innocently.

Lance raised a single eyebrow, pointing his spoon at Keith. A drip of gruel fell to the table, “Keith. I’ve introduced you to Nyma at least five times. You can’t keep forgetting people just because they aren’t mages or paladins.”

Nyma laughed behind her delicately gloved hand before she grabbed Lance’s ale and took a sip. She closed her eyes, tossing her head back, throat bobbing with greedy sips. Lance’s eyes traced over her with a hunger that resonated in Keith’s stomach when his eyes settled elsewhere.

With a sigh, she slammed the cup of ale back on the table, wiping foam from her mouth with the back of her forearm. Keith’s heart stuttered at the sight of foam dusting her lips. His eyes darted to Lance, but there was only a small smile on his lips.

No sweat on his brow or distance in his eyes.

A firm hand landed on Keith’s shoulder, familiar in weight. Wiping his head around, he saw the Shiro he only witnessed in memories. And Keith just wanted to sit there and experience a Shiro with two hands and a smile that didn’t hint at nightmares and sleepless nights.

Tugging lightly on the strands of Keith’s high ponytail, Shiro spoke, “The Queen wishes to see us.”

Keith nodded rising from the table with his nearly full bowl of porridge. He didn’t really have an appetite after the last meal he had. Lance made a grand gesture of kissing the back of Nyma’s gloved hand, before chugging the rest of his ale and marching after Keith.

Allura had the same speech, and Keith expected her to comment on Jowangshin like she had after the last battle, but she didn’t.

Keith couldn’t really pay attention, eyes constantly drifting to Lance as if expecting to see spittle foaming at his mouth or watching his knees go weak. But Lance stood proud with a lackadaisical smile lilting his lips.

But Keith couldn’t stop the dread that overwhelmed him for lunch, the meal that Lance had gotten two bites into before vomiting and dying in his arms.

When he was praying in the temple, he kept a close eye on Lance. He listened for the paladin’s soft breaths. There was a moment when Lance seemed to struggle for inhalations, and Keith jumped to his feet running to the edge of the blue alcove.

Lance turned slightly, confusion etched on his brow. There was a slight gleam of sweat to his features, and Keith’s stomach clenched at the sight.

Did this mean he had already been poisoned?

And that sensation of dread, the one that stole him down to the darkest depths of the ocean, filled his lungs again. Briny and tasting like tears.

“You hungry?” Lance questioned Keith with the rise of an eyebrow.

“I could eat,” Pidge called from the green alcove, rising to her feet and cracking her back with a twist. She straightened her cloak and walked over to Keith and Lance.

On their way to the cafeteria, Pidge and Lance made casual conversation while Keith dragged behind. His hands began to sweat, wiping them continuously on his woolen pants.

Just before they opened the large wooden doors, Hunk and Shiro came out carrying the plate of turkey legs and the jug of ale.

“Lunch with the princess?” Pidge asked, reaching for one of the turkey legs only for Hunk to hold it above her reach with a laugh.

“Yes, lunch _with the princess_ ,” Hunk joked, marching down the hallway with a jovial smile and Pidge at his side.

Fear convulsed in Keith’s heart like blood, thick and coagulating in his arteries, sticky and viscous. His hands tightened into his pants, struggling for something to hold onto, other than the fire that curled in his stomach and attempted to comfort him.

“Keith?” The voice sent him reeling back into reality.

Blinking rapidly, Keith focused on Lance standing several paced ahead of him, the backs of the other paladins disappearing as they turned the corner. The same emotions from earlier on the wall-walk flitted across Lance’s expression. “You coming?”

“Yeah, of course,” Keith mumbled, uncurling his hands and walking beside Lance as they walked towards lunch.

They strode into Allura’s office seconds after Hunk came with the plate of turkey legs and Shiro carried the jug of ale. Coran was just finished setting up the table and pulling a report from Allura’s hands much to her discontent.

With a groan, Lance flopped into a chair and reached out for a turkey leg with a hungry glint to his eyes.

_(The way Lance’s shoulders slumped, the stench of spilled ale and vomit, the glossiness to his eyes, the way his heated body shivered against Keith’s hands, and the way he’d looked at Keith -- like he was already dead, mind lost to the swirl of poison.)_

Keith slapped his hand before he could think. Lance pulled his hand to his chest, aghast, “What the hell, man?”

Fumbling for an excuse as the fear threatened to suffocate him, he came up with nothing but the truth, “It could be poisoned.”

Everyone in the room stopped. Eyes drew to him slowly, contemplating what he suggested.

Hunk had one eyebrow raised as if ready to defend the loyalty of the kitchens, but the stench of blood from the battle earlier was still too fresh.

“Why would you think that?” Allura asked, her tone more contemplative rather than accusatory. She stood from her chair, hands still covered in ink, as she walked towards the table with an inquisitive gleam to her eyes.

“Premonition?” Keith shrugged his shoulders, hoping that the presence of Gods and Goddesses in this dimension would allow him to play it off.

Pidge stiffened as Hunk placed a hand on her shoulder. “Can you sense plant based poisons?” his voice was straight forward, more analytical than Keith was used to, a brunt force rather than warmth.

Pidge nodded, eyes fixated on the food in question.

“Keith,” Lance began, clapping a hand on Keith’s shoulder and opened his mouth like he was about to say something insulting. But his hand just tightened, pinching Keith’s muscles with bruising force.

Keith snapped his gaze to Lance’s face, seeing that he was already sweating. His jaw hung low, and he pushed himself away from Keith to vomit on the floor, splattering the legs of the furniture and the bottoms of Keith’s pants. Lance’s frantic fumbling hands grappled at the back of a chair as if to steady himself on readily weakening knees.

“Fuck!” Keith shouted, grabbing Lance under the armpits and placing him in a chair. “Pidge can you draw the poison out of his system?” Keith pinned her with his gaze as he ignored the unnatural heat of Lance’s skin.

Sprinting forward, she placed a hand on Lance’s forehead. Closing her eyes, a calmness seemed to settle around her, relaxing the features on her face and making her appear much younger than Keith had ever seen her before.

Chin trembling, she pulled back her hand, palm damp with sweat, “I can’t. The trace is either too minimal or too far progressed.”

Lance began mumbling incoherently, eyes dazed and skin slick with perspiration. Keith softly shushed him. As if desperate for something to hold onto, Lance’s hands stumbled across the table, but Keith swept them up and pressed them to his chest, allowing him to feel the rapid beat of his heart.

Pain played across Lance’s face in flashes of starlight. His breathing grew less and less frequent, little wheezing inhales and exhales that foamed spittle on his lips, until the fingers that trembled in Keith’s palm stilled.

Agony so acute it felt like a thousand needles covered his heart. Sorrow so tear-stained it threatened to drown him. And anger so raging that Jowangshin purred for righteous vengeance.

There was a choked sob, and Hunk screamed cracking the back of another chair in his bare hands. Allura slumped back against her desk, dazed and vulnerable expression on her face. Pidge turned away, hands clenched against the table and shoulders hunched. Coran attempted to steady himself by supporting Allura, features pinched and eyes sorrowful. And Shiro walked closer to Keith as is desperate to do something.

Keith merely closed Lance’s eyes, wiping the vomit and spittle from his lips.

“But --” Hunk cut himself off, marching up to the edge of the table and pinning Keith with his glare. “How could you know that --” but tears constricted his throat as his gaze drifted to the pained contortion of Lance’s features.

“Leave us.” Allura snapped, eyes fixing Keith in his position beside Lance. Keith didn’t look as Coran wrapped a tender arm around Shiro’s shoulders or how Pidge had to guide Hunk from the room with a gentle hand on his elbow.

The Queen stepped around her desk and sunk back in her chair. A muscle in her jaw jumped as she obviously sought retribution. Folding her hands on the desk, she blatantly looked only at Keith and not the limp hands Keith was folding in Lance’s lap. “I have never heard of Jowangshin giving visions or clairvoyance.” There was a tightness to her jaw and a suspiciousness that sparked in her eyes. “Open your mind to me paladin.”

“Want to make sure that I’m not a spy?” Keith grumbled, resistance minimal and tone flippant. Allura raised an eyebrow, but Keith exhaled and opened his mind, reaching out and gently feeling the touch of Allura’s mind against his, a purple light so similar to the connections between lions. “You won’t like what you see though.”

  


**~~~~**

  


Keith stood for long enough that the arches of his feet began to ache, becoming accustomed to the quiet touch of Allura’s mind against his. Pinching her eyes closed, Allura furrowed to her brows. She exhaled, and the foreignness that had embraced his mind disappeared.

Opening her eyes, she pinned him with her gaze. “You’re not _our_ Keith.” Her statement was absolute. She massaged her temples underneath her circlet, “Great Lion Goddess, help us.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed these chapters!! I'll see you all tomorrow with some more of the angst fest!!
> 
> Thank you for all your comments and kudos, because they honestly mean the world to me (as well as letting me know that you all keep up with my spotty updates even though I'm supposed to have a good schedule (×﹏×) )
> 
> You can also come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!


	19. Intermission: Fragments of Fractured Thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *opens doors and ushers you into the banquet of angst*
> 
> Welcome! And enjoy!

Twelve days after the battle with Zarkon and a day after Keith’s disappearance into ash, Shiro marched into the pod bay with Allura hot on his heels. Hunk was already there, holding plates of food goo for Lance and Pidge’s breakfast; they’d spent another night curled around Keith’s cryopod.

“So are we going to talk about this?” Shiro’s voice was rough from lack of sleep. A weariness had settled into the lines of his face and the slope of his shoulders. Crossing her arms, Allura stood behind him, showing her support for whatever Shiro was about to say -- something they’d obviously discussed at length.

“Talk about what?” Lance spit, refusing to touch the food Hunk had placed before him. “Talk about how Keith hasn’t really stabilized and mysteriously dies and comes back to life every morning? Or the fact that he was completely burned to ashes before our eyes yesterday?” Pidge placed a gentle hand on Lance’s forearm, and he stilled slightly at her touch. But there was still an edge to his voice, a directionless anger.

Shiro cleared his throat, eyes clearly avoiding looking into Keith’s cryopod and seeing him miraculously healed with that small smile on his face. But the stiffness to his shoulders relaxed slightly as he sighed. “I was referring to the energy we felt the moment before Red moved unlike anything we had ever known was possible.”

They were all quiet for a moment.

“It felt so familiar,” Hunk began, voice a mere whisper, “like I had experienced it before.”

“Deja vu,” Pidge supplied, and Hunk nodded.

“Shiro thinks this may have something to do with Keith’s current state,” Allura stated, understanding pinching her brow as she walked over to Keith’s pod. Humming to herself, she checked Keith’s vitals.

Shiro ran a hand through his hair with an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know. I don’t even know what I saw.”

Lance shivered, remembering the way fragments of ideas or dreams or memories had assaulted the bond they all shared -- fighting and desperate and lashing against the confines of theirs minds. The most mysterious aspect was that they hadn’t formed Voltron, only their minds were open like during the mind meld exercises, but nothing like this had ever happened before.

Keith had forced whatever memories or delusions or thoughts through the bond, bombarding them all with these oversaturated ideas.

Closing his eyes, Lance saw the scene that had resonated so strongly through the bond that he almost confused it for his own memories. The scene that he’d buried deep in the recesses of his mind in a desperate attempt to mask the confusion and the soul-churning fear.

Tilting his head back, he whispered, “I saw myself die.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Chapter 8:  
>  _Red growled, her fury resonating through Keith’s mind at the sight of everything Keith hadn’t intended to share. In his panic, he was unaware that he projected the images to Red and to the edges of the paladin’s minds._
> 
>  
> 
> _But he didn’t have time to ponder what his teammates had seen or what exactly their connection had conveyed, because Red roared, heating emitting from her hide in outrage and wrath. Rearing her head back, she charged forward with a speed Keith had never experienced._
> 
>  
> 
> Hmmm so what did everyone really see?? haha
> 
> Thanks to everyone for their wonderful comments and kudos ❤ (ɔˆз(ˆ⌣ˆc)
> 
> Also you can come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!


	20. Only to the Heart that Knows of Grief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the poem Fire-Flowers by Emily Pauline Johnson ✿
> 
> I hope you all enjoy the real beginning of the murder mystery arc!!

Allura had looked at him with disbelief and terror in her gaze as if she hadn’t really seen him before. Standing abruptly, she rushed to the door, flinging it open and calling Coran in.

Her advisor stood tall beside her desk as she stared out the stain glass window. Wisps of her starlight hair that curled around her shoulders and the curve of her ear seemed to glow golden in the dipping sunlight.

“What do you think this could mean for Altea,” she whispered as her shoulders hunched.

Coran’s eyes lingered over Keith’s frame as if searching for an outward sign that he wasn’t this Keith. Maybe it was in the way he held himself, too informal for the Keith that had been raised in his medieval court. Or the way that he clasped his cloak or the way he clenched his fingers or gritted his teeth.

Shivers coursed over his skin under the detailed inspection, dipping his chin and hiding behind his bangs.

“I’m afraid I cannot say, your highness,” Coran said, turning to face her, and Keith finally relaxed.

With a sharp exhale, Allura straightened herself and turning to meet Keith’s eyes. There was a forced determination to her steely gaze -- so much like her father’s.

“I have a couple questions for you,” Allura began, finishing her sentence with a whisper as if his name no longer fit him, “Keith.”

Nodding, he settled in to one of the seats after Hunk carried Lance from the room, hands tightening in his pants. He bit his lip and forced himself to focus on the present, not the looming dread of tomorrow or the wait of Lance’s fate in his hands.

So he answered all of her questions, told her of space and the lions and the day that everything changed. And he couldn’t stop the hopefulness that swelled in his heart when Allura tapped at her chin in thought, contemplating his bizarre twist of fate. Allura must have the answers, so blessed by the Goddess of intelligence and the mind.

But her questions seemed to be to ease her curiosity or a feeble attempt to search the fates, determined to see Keith’s arrival as a warning, a premonition for disaster.

Keith couldn’t help but agree.

  


**~~~~**

  


“Get up!” Kolivan yelled from his doorway, “Kogane! Get up!”

Keith sat up and hung his feet off the edge of the bed, shooting Kolivan a nod before he walked off down the hallway.

He couldn’t shake the sensation of Queen Allura’s eyes on him yesterday, the way she explored his mind and all the memories he had offered. It was strange to see that kind of acceptance, that someone finally understood, even if was only a fragment of understanding, but it was comforting nonetheless.

However, watching Hunk carry Lance’s limp body, the stench of decay and excrement still heavy in the office, had made Keith wish that he’d succeeded yesterday, even at the sacrifice of Allura’s understanding.

Taking a deep breath, Keith thought analytically, struggling to plan out his actions rather than running through the day on pure instinct and assuming everything would turn out alright.

Lance had been poisoned prior to lunch. Even though he was unfamiliar with this dimension, it was likely that the poison was either ingested or injected.

He fumbled with his boots and cloak, as his mind drifted elsewhere. The only other meal that Lance had was breakfast, where Keith had watched him eat the unpleasant porridge and drink the ale.

He raced to the top of the wall and watched an arrow soar toward Lance. A potentially poisonous arrow.

Racing forward and flicking his wrist, he incinerated it, but not before it had embedded itself deep in Lance’s shoulder. Lance cursed and stumbled backward, hands flying to the scorching wound.

“Watch yourself, Kogane!” Lance sneered. “I didn’t need you to fucking cauterize my wound.”

With delicate fingers, Lance brushed ocean water over the stinging laceration. He struggled to keep the cringed of pain off his features.

“Can you tell if it was poisoned?” Keith commented, placing a steadying hand on Lance’s upper arm.

A flicker of fear crossed his face as he admitted, “That’s more of Pidge’s territory.” He flourished a glob of water on the tips of his fingers, “I obviously don’t really do well with plant based things.” With a smirk, Lance flicked water on Keith’s face, hiding any fear with a lilting smile.

Keith stood up with a flutter of his cloak. “Find Pidge. I’ll cover the East Wall.” He didn’t even look back at Lance as he stood atop the parapet and heard Jowangshin whisper delicious, tempting praises in his ears, begging for more sacrifices, to taste more of his mind. He gave her Galra instead, and she feasted on them nonetheless -- fires ferocious and ravenous as it commandeered the Galra army.

Even as they retreated Jowangshin hungered, desperate for the scent of death and the victory that hummed in Keith’s veins like adrenaline.

With a pinch of fear, Keith pulled himself away from her, pushing the tremulous fire to the pit of his stomach and ignoring its playfulness and laughter. He jumped down from the parapet to see Lance walking casually along the wall-walk.

He clapped Keith sharply on the back with his uninjured arm. “I didn’t know you cared about me so much, Kogane,” Lance quipped, smirking at the red paladin as a flush colored the tips of his ears.

“So?” Keith prompted, blinking the last visages of Enthrallment from his eyes and ignoring the way Lance goaded him.

“Pidge didn’t find anything.” Lance shrugged and ran a hand over the arrow wound as he hopped down the stairs of the East tower.

Lance made casual conversation as they walked down the now familiar corridors. When they were about to turn down the hallway to the dining room, Keith grabbed Lance’s hand.

“Do you want to eat somewhere quieter maybe?” Keith asked, watching everyone who strode into the boisterous dining room with an analytical gaze.

Blush erupted over Lance’s cheeks as he pulled out of Keith’s hold. Running a hand through his hair, Lance looked at Keith out of the corner of his eye with a small smirk dusting his lips. “If you wanted a date Keith, you could’ve just asked.”

Keith clenched his hands at his sides as an embarrassed flush claimed his features. But Keith couldn’t force this lighthearted appearance of Lance from his mind, so different from _his_ Lance who flirted with dumb pick up lines and finger guns and spun stories like threads of gold.

Grumbling and turning his gaze away from that sunlight smile, Keith answered, “I didn’t mean it like that.” Lance laughed at Keith’s coarse embarrassment. And it was always that laugh, so bright and playful, that made memories of sitting in the castle, Spanish heavy on his lips, surge forth.

But with those sunshine tinted came the reality that he was here again, struggling to save Lance from another cruel twist of fate.

Shrugging his shoulders, the blue paladin began walking toward the dining room, turning his back to Keith.

“I know. I know, Keith.” But Lance didn’t look at him when he spoke, shoulders only tensing slightly, and Keith’s heart continued to trip in his chest. He ignored the small chuckle of fire in his stomach.

Keith butted in front of Lance in the line for food, taking the plates and servings that had been Lance’s in days prior. He filled his goblet first and drank heartily, even reaching for Lance’s drink after they sat at the table.

And Lance watched him sip at the ale with disbelief splitting his lips and blush tinting the tips of ears again.

Nyma skipped over to them, drawing Lance’s attention as he snapped his jaw shut. “Good morning, Lance,” she purred, draping herself over Lance and stealing his attention. Fluttering her eyelashes and laughing behind her gloved hands, Lance was utterly infatuated with her.

With something akin to cold dread curling in his stomach, Keith leaned forward and bit the porridge off of Lance’s spoon when he was distractedly flirting with Nyma. And Keith swore to himself that it was to ensure the food wasn’t poisoned -- nothing to do with removing that lovesick look off of Lance’s features.

Nyma pulled back as shocked painted her features.

But Lance just laughed, eyes crinkling with humor. “You could’ve just asked me to feed you.” With a chuckle and a jeering smile, Lance held out another spoonful of the disgusting porridge. There was a devious set to his brows and a mischievous glint to his eyes that Keith found oddly endearing. But with the back of his hand and a small frown, Keith slapped the spoon away. It splattered porridge across the table, Nyma, and Lance.

Nyma squealed with shock, looking down at her stained dress and the porridge that pooled between her breasts.

Shaking his head, Lance used the edge of his tunic to wipe the goo from the planes of his face. Nyma reached up to brush the splatters off her face with her gloved hands, but Lance caught her hand. He brought the edge of his tunic up, exposing tantalizing tanned skin as he wiped the porridge off Nyma’s cheek.

“Wouldn’t want you to dirty your gloves,” Lance hummed, eyes drifting to watch the way porridge settled into the deep crease of her cleavage.

With his thumb, he smeared the breakfast from Nyma’s lip. He dipped the tip of his finger in his mouth both to Nyma’s and Keith’s embarrassment. Picking up her hand, he lightly kissed it, eyes fixated on her.

The fire bubbled against Keith’s ribs, and he felt sick.

Shiro’s hand clamped down on his shoulder, a welcomed distraction to the affection in front of him. But Keith refused to take his eyes off Lance to ensure that the blue paladin didn’t ingest anything else, much to the horror of his rolling stomach. Shiro’s warm hands messed with Keith’s hair, even as he swatted at the black paladin’s hands.

With a warm laugh, Shiro began making conversation with Lance, thankfully dragging his attention from the swell of Nyma’s breasts.

“The Queen wishes to see us,” Shiro spoke, tone still playful but firm in demands. Keith nodded, smoothing his hair back into his long ponytail.

Keith rose, grabbing the rest of Lance’s ale and drinking it. Lance scoffed, mumbling something about the battle under his breath, before they followed Shiro out of the dining room.

Lance didn’t ingest anything while praying at the altar tinted in blue light, but perspiration began to bead on his forehead. And Lance died three bites into lunch, vomiting and shaking apart in Keith’s arms.

Hunk crouched in front of Lance’s body lying limply across the couch, hands trembling in the blue tunic.

Keith refused to look at the lifelessness in those limp limbs or the dullness in those ocean eyes.

Gritting his teeth, he buried the sense of failure that seemed to signal the end of every day, no matter how high the sun shined. Buried everything that wasn’t the driving sense of vengeance that stoked the embers in his stomach.

Turning to Shiro, Keith asked, “What’s the possibility that there’s a spy in the castle?”

“Is that really what you’re thinking about Keith?” Hunk snapped, looking up from Lance’s body, and Keith was all too familiar with that look -- the furrow of Hunk’s brows, the bloodshot eyes, and the curling frown. He knew the way that Hunk looked at him over Lance’s dead body, mourning and eyes watery, bayard heavy in his hands and grief heavy on his shoulders.

Keith clenched his fists, feeling the crackle of fire across his knuckles. “Yes, it’s what I’m thinking about,” he growled through clenched teeth. “Lance was poisoned sometime between the battle this morning when Pidge checked his wound for poison and now. And I want to know who did it.” His hands twitched and the fire traveled up his arms, “ _And I want to end them._ ”

Hunk paused, anger sated at Keith’s thirst for vengeance.

Pidge stepped forward with a set to her expression that was too familiar, loss carving the same lines in her features as _his_ Pidge. With the back of her hand, she wiped the tears from her eyes. “I’ll help find the spy.” At the sound of her assent, the fire diminished to sparks along his relaxing fingertips.

Keith unclenched his hands, looking around the room before stating, “I’ve eaten everything Lance’s had to eat today.”

“From his servings?” Shiro questioned, one eyebrow raising in confusion. One hand was clamped tightly on the hilt of his sword, and the look in his eyes was the more haunted expression he had worn around the Castle of Lions.

Keith nodded in response as Pidge walked up to him.

Pushing the cloak up above her elbows, she placed both hands on his chest with a firm slap. Keith was startled but didn’t move from her touch. He watched her eyes go cloudy, chin dipping towards her chest in relaxation. A comfortable heat poured from her palms, and like vines sprouting in his veins, an uncomfortable and stretching of his skin, she searched for poison.

Pulling back her hands, she rolled her wrists. “There’s no traces of poison. So either you didn’t have the same dosage as Lance, or the poison had another means of transportation.”

“It could’ve been contact poison,” Coran piped up from beside Allura’s desk. Allura hadn’t spoken since Lance began showing symptoms. Her eyes were downcast at the papers scattering her desk. She had always been calm in the face of tragedy, but Keith could see the tremble of her hands and the way she refused to meet anyone’s gaze.

She always suppressed her feelings, determined to be the leader her father raised her to be. Months prior, just after the castle had been poisoned by the Galra crystal, Keith had walked by the pod bay to hear Coran lecturing Allura about the glass shards in her arms and chest. She merely nodded through muffled tears. But she had never wavered in front of her paladins, never revealed the deep wounds she carried.

It was the same familiar suppression of her feelings now. Picking up a new piece of paper, she dipped her quill and began taking notes.

“Contact poison?” Shiro questioned.

“Yes, my boy,” Coran began, attempting to distract from the loss they felt hollowing out their chests. A jovial conversation, all eyes cast away from the body and to the man who could still smile. Keith smiled in response, always appreciating Coran’s sacrifice. “Contact poison is poison that merely needs to pass through the skin to be effective. However, the poisoner must be very careful with the application as to not poison themselves.”

The whole group stiffened at the mention of the poisoner. Allura set down her quill, eyes focusing directly on Keith.

“I had suspected there was a spy within the castle for some time. We have managed for some of our spies to infiltrate the high command of the Galra, and I had no doubt there could be one in our midst.” Allura commented, eyes still fixated on the papers before her. Quill almost crushed in her trembling fingers.

  
  
  


And that was how the rest of the day went, fruitless conversations about the spy without any real results. Keith walked back to his small room, hung his cloak and kicked off his shoes. He pulled the blanket up to his chin after without changing into a soft linen shift.

Keith closed his eyes and buried his face into the thick woolen blanket. It was unrefined and scratched at his skin. He inhaled and longed for the scent of Lance’s silk sheets and the calming cooled air of the castle. He longed so badly to be back in the healing pod and not have to wake up again today.

He covered his mouth to muffle a sob.

He didn’t remember when his crying stopped or when he fell asleep.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mutual Pining? Keith being an utter mess and not being able to understand his feelings? In my fic -- Never haha
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter!!
> 
> All of your comments honestly mean the world to me -- they _fuuuueel_ me haha so thank you for taking the time out of your day to comment and let me know you're still reading  <3
> 
> You can also come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!


	21. Intermission: A Million Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy, my dudes!! To let you know how much I love y’all, I’m updating on mobile from con haha
> 
> Enjoy!

“You saw yourself die?” Shiro stiffened at Lance’s statement, the Galra arm whining in protest as Shiro clenched his hands.

Lance couldn’t meet his gaze as the sensation of dread crawled up his spine with cold fingers. He nodded in response as a tense silence settled over the room.

“I tried to kill Keith,” Hunk whispered with revulsion clear on his features. He fumbled with the edge of his shirt, eyes downcast. “I called him a bloodthirsty Galra.” Hunk’s voice broke and his shoulders trembled. Standing, Lance placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, unable to provide words of comfort but he hoped his presence would be enough.

Pidge swallowed as she closed her laptop, shoulders tense and eyes distant. “I saw us all die in Voltron. One by one,” she mumbled and paused, pushing her glasses up and swallowing sharply. “And Keith was the last one alive.”

There was a moment of silence, eyes slowly drifting to Shiro’s stiffened stance and the way muscles jumped in his jaw, teeth grinding. Pidge stepped closer to Lance, curling herself under one of his arms and wrapping her arms around his stomach.

Shiro’s whisper was almost lost under the hum of the cryopod. “I saw Keith kill himself.” Hands clenching at his sides and prosthetic humming, “Jumping out of the airlock while Lance watched him. Could almost --” and Shiro cleared his throat, tipping his head back to trace the fine lines of the ceiling.

Allura stepped away from Keith’s pod to Shiro’s side. She placed a delicate hand on his shoulder, whispering something in his ear. Nodding, Shiro’s face fell, pinched with agony and a flash of other incomprehensible emotions.

“I could practically feel everything that happened to him,” Shiro mumbled, human hand slowly winding around Allura’s waist, chin dipping onto her shoulder for stability. Allura gently rubbed a hand over Shiro’s trembling back.

Pidge squeezed Lance’s stomach harder, pushing her glasses atop her head so that she could hide her tears in the folds of Lance’s jacket. Turning to Lance, Hunk threw his arms over his shoulders and hugged him tight to his chest.

Another tense silence filled the room, muffled by the stifled sounds of tears. Undercurrents of questions or misunderstandings or just a desire for answers flooded the room, settling heavily on their shoulders like a fine layer of dust.

Allura pulled away from Shiro after the trembling had left his limbs and he held his head a little higher. After meeting all of their weary gazes, she turned on her heel and marched out the door. “I’m getting Coran.”

As if Coran held all the answers. As if there was anyone in this fucked up universe that could explain.

Pidge just buried her head deeper into Lance’s jacket as he wound his arm tighter around her back.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all of your encouragement, kudos, and comments!!


	22. of Desolating Fire, of Human Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Were all your theories right?? How was Lance poisoned? Will we find out this chapter?? Haha
> 
> Enjoy!

“Get up!” Kolivan yelled from the doorway, “Kogane! Get up!”

Keith rose from bed, put on his shoes and cloak, and marched to the top of the East Wall. Adrenaline and a vengeful chill seeped into his blood and threatened to Enthrall him.

This time when Lance stood atop the parapet, Keith incinerated every arrow that was aimed at him with a ferocity that made fire ignite in his lungs in approval. The riptide of the wave sucked Galra out to sea only to spit them up to the sand as chewed up sea brittle.

Jowangshin whispered into his ear, jealous that Yemaya, Goddess of the ocean, received such wonderful sacrifices and yet Keith had given her nothing -- nothing but charred arrows and the bitter taste of his anger.

He chuckled, amused by her impishness, and let her fire consume and devour.

  


**~~~~**

  


After the battle, they were walking to breakfast as Lance made conversation, fingers laced casually behind his head. Keith’s palms began to sweat, and he tried to contribute something to the conversation, to distract Lance from breakfast and lead him somewhere safer.

“So, does your Goddess like the sacrifices you give her?” Keith asked, scratching at the back of his neck.

Jowangshin giggled in his stomach as Lance’s eyes snapped to his.

Suddenly, the blue paladin’s hands bit into Keith’s biceps, shaking him slightly. “What did you just say?”

“Does Yemaya like the sacrifices you feed her oceans during battle?” Keith tilted his head to the side, attempting to step back from the harsh grasp of Lance’s hands. But whatever Lance saw in his eyes made him stiffen his grip, fingernails pinching with bruising force.

“What the fuck, Keith! No, Yemaya only _tries_ to talk to me when I use magic!” Lance’s grip fluctuated and one hand came up to cup Keith’s cheek.

Suddenly, there was the cold slick of water on his face. Keith tried to pull away in shock, all too familiar with the sensation of drowning in tears when Lance had pulled him out of his Enthrallment so many days before. But the water held him tight, rolling over his eyes and mouth.

He gurgled, choking on the briny water, and fire burst to his fingertips, igniting in indignation. There was the crackle of fire in his stomach, a whirlwind of Jowangshin’s anger at the treatment of her son.

“Son?” Lance pulled back the water, dripping from his fingers to the stone floor as he released Keith. Stepping back, Keith touched a flaming hand to his face, wanting to evaporate the phantom feeling of water still clinging to his skin.

“How did you --”

“Keith, what’ve you done? Don’t you remember what happened to King Alfor?” Lance’s voice echoed off the walls, contorted with anger and so much fear.

“Yes! How could I forget?” Keith snapped back at Lance and sparks danced across his fingertips. Lance’s eyes widened with horror, tracing the ignition of fire that glimmered on his flesh.

Lance instinctively stepped back, crossing himself with the sign of his goddess, to ward of Enthrallment. Insanity.

Lance’s voice had decreased to a horrified whisper, “What did you give her?”

Keith paused, tasting ash on his tongue and feeling it clump under his fingernails. He remembered the way she had whispered in his ear and coaxed him into a peaceful death surrounded by Lance’s ashes. The way she had cradled him and wiped away his tears with fingers of flame, the way she had comforted him and understood when no one else could sense the magnitude of his agony.

“Me,” Keith breathed.

The blue paladin was still for a moment before screaming curses, pulling his hair in frantic hands, and punching the stone wall only to curse more. Finally turning on Keith with a snarl, he poked him in the chest with a sharpened fingernail. “I’m glad to know you don’t give a shit about us!”

“When did this turn into --”

“Goddess above, we love you Keith! How could you just throw yourself away like that?!” Lance screeched, echoing down the familiar hallways. People scurried past to the dining hall, hiding in the shadows and ducking their heads to ignore the fight between paladins. “How could you?”

“I didn’t throw myself away!”

“Then what did you do, Keith?” Lance poked his chest again hard, pushing Keith back several steps. “What did you do?”

Keith clenched his fists and tried to look away. He wanted to say anything else than what was bubbling from his lungs, to scream all the injustices that had been cursed upon him and that surrendering himself to a Goddess didn’t matter, not when he would wake up to Kolivan yelling at him, repeating the day over and over until Lance lived.

That nothing he did mattered.

Lance grabbed his chin and made their eyes meet, a flurry of emotions crossing his face as he waited for Keith to answer.

“I wanted her to kill me!” Keith shouted, clamping his mouth shut before he could say anything about Lance’s body and the ash that still felt trapped under his fingernails.

Lance’s anger faltered, eyes widening and shock furrowing his brow. Grasping Keith’s shirt, Lance buried his face in his chest, shoulders bobbing with quiet sobs. Not in a single reality or twisted day had Keith seen Lance cry or felt the tremble of his fingers clutching so tightly to his clothing. Keith fumbled for what to do, hands suspended above the blue paladin’s back.

With an exhale, he gently wrapped his arms around Lance’s shoulders, one delicately brushing through Lance’s hair and the other rubbing calming circles on his back. He felt the soft locks and the shaven side, enjoying the varying patterns against his calloused fingers.

“I love you,” Lance sobbed, fingers tightening their grasp and tears cold against Keith’s heated skin.

Keith’s heart stopped, breath caught in his chest. His hands stuttered on Lance’s back, heart racing and thundering so loudly in his ears that he couldn’t possibly think. He wasn’t sure why those words caused such a reaction from him. Wasn’t sure why he wanted to hear Lance say it again and again with a smile rather than a bitten off sob.

Wasn’t sure why his heart fell to the bubbling fire in his stomach or his throat ached when Lance sobbed again, “We all love you, dumbass.”

Yes, they all loved him. And Keith loved everyone too.

His hands clenched into the blue cloak on Lance’s back, pulling the trembling boy closer to his chest. Tipping his head, he placed his chin on Lance’s head, feeling the short, shaved hairs scrape against his jaw.

They stood there quietly for a few minutes as Lance dried his tears and Keith calmed his heart.

“Let’s go to breakfast,” Lance breathed, pulling himself from Keith’s grasp. And before Keith could deter him, Lance was marching toward the dining hall, exuding a lightness that didn’t reach his eyes.

And Keith couldn’t help but wonder how many times _his_ Lance pulled himself together like that, with fragmented pieces of his heart still loose inside his chest but smiling so brightly as a distraction.

His heart constricted at the thought.

Keith didn’t take Lance’s spot in line for food, knowing that the dishes or the servings themselves weren’t poisoned. Instead his eyes watched everyone who attempted to brush up against Lance, the way the maid who handed him his goblet attempted to brush their fingers together. Keith jostled Lance, making the ale spill and their fingers distance before they could touch.

It was the first time since they’d entered the dining hall that Lance had met his gaze, and it was a skeptical eyebrow raise. But there was a brightness to his gaze that made Keith’s shoulders relax.

They sat at the table, and Lance continued to avoid all eye contact.

“Lance,” Keith began, but Nyma strode up to the table, smiling and providing the perfect distraction for Lance.

Ignoring Keith, the water mage grabbed her delicately gloved hand and pulled her onto the bench next to him. “Hello, my Goddess.”

Nyma laughed and swatted at him. “I don’t need the wrath of Yemaya, Lance.” Her eyes were serious and focused on Lance’s expression, but the rest of her body relaxed against the table as if she could sit and waste time with Lance all day.

Keith bit hard into his metal spoon and fought off a groan of pain. Lance raised a single eyebrow, but when Keith met his eyes, Lance turned his attention back to Nyma. There was a slight blush on his ears as he took a sip of ale. Keith clenched his spoon in his hand. Sparks danced along the metal threatening to warp it.

Lance leaned closer to Nyma, whispering in her ear. She giggled and pulled back, jokingly slapping him on the arm.

A firm hand slapped Keith on the shoulder, and he was so startled that he jumped to his feet. The bench skidded and the table shook. Shiro’s firm hand caught Keith’s drink, but Lance’s full goblet splattered ale across the table and onto Nyma’s chest and lap.

Shrieking, she jumped off the bench with flushed cheeks and horror painting her features. Her hands fluttered around her chest like she wanted to wipe off the bubbling ale but her white gloves were also soaked.

Lance sat a little frozen, watching Nyma flail for a minute before he also rose to his feet. She pulled off her gloves, slapping them down on the table. With dry hands she wicked some of the liquid off her delicately beaded dress.

Lance shot Keith a disapproving look, and Keith couldn’t meet his gaze.

Keith swallowed and mumbled, “Sorry, Nyma. I meant no harm.”

“It’s fine, Keith.” Her politeness was clipped and purely for formality’s sake.

Lance was about to use the edge of his tunic to pat her dry when he realized that the liquid had soaked into very inappropriate places. Nyma waved him off with a huff. “I’m just going to go change.” She nodded her head to Shiro and Keith, “Gentlemen.” And began to storm off.

“Sorry,” Shiro apologized to Keith, “I didn’t meant to scare you.”

Keith nodded, but his eyes didn’t leave Lance as he grabbed Nyma’s gloves from the table. He called out to her, and she paused, hands held out to the sides and fingertips dripping with ale. Lanced offered her the gloves. Her face twisted dangerously before transitioning into a seemingly endearing smile. She gripped the gloves by the hem with the tips of her fingers.

“Thank you, Lance,” she purred, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

“Anything for my Goddess,” he teased, reaching for her hand to, from what Keith could assume watching Lance’s flirting pattern, kiss her hand in parting. She snatched her hand back before he could touch her, wet gloves dripping over the bottom of her dress.

“Sorry,” she mumbled and Keith almost couldn’t hear her over the constant hum of conversations in the dining hall. “I’m just covered in sticky ale. I’ll see you later, Lance.” She placed a delicate kiss to his cheek instead.

Keith felt fire crackle up his arms, and Jowangshin attempted to console him by matching his irritation. Lance turned on the ball of his foot, and his eyes quickly caught sight of the sparks on Keith’s fingertips, disapproval and fear quickly crossing his features.

“Wait, Keith!” Shiro called out as Keith stormed out of the dining hall.

Keith yelled over his shoulder, “I’ll see you in Allura’s office.”

  


**~~~~**

  


Shiro and Lance stumbled into the meeting a couple minutes after him, and Allura gave the same speech she had before. Keith’s irritation had begun to fade, and he carefully eyed Lance for the beginning symptoms of poisoning, not even listening to the speech he’d heard twice before.

He couldn’t get the look on Nyma’s face when she was offered her gloves out of his mind. It was so different from the looks she gave Lance all breakfast.

“Keith,” Lance pulled at Keith’s arm, directing him out of the room. It seemed that the meeting had adjourned while he was deep in thought.

Allura cleared her throat, drawing Keith’s attention. Raising a single eyebrow, she gave Keith a imploring glance, and he knew she was wondering if he’d even heard anything she’d said.

“Yeah, yeah. I got it all, Allura.” He waved a hand over his shoulder before walking out of the room, mind still distracted.

Lance quickly followed after him, and as soon as the door shut, Lance met his gaze with wide eyes.

“I can’t believe you called Queen Allura just Allura!” Lance questioned, slightly damp palm slapping Keith across the back. Were Lance’s hands perspiring or was that just Keith’s paranoid thought process? “What’s going on between you two?”

Lance raised an eyebrow, and Keith scoffed walking down the hallway toward the temple.

“Keith, are you and the Queen --”

“I’m gay, Lance.” Keith snapped, gaze fixated down the long hallway. Cursing under his breath, he attempted to control the irritation bubbling from the worry that was already too late to save Lance. Keith didn’t turn back, but he heard the stutter of Lance’s footsteps behind him.

  


**~~~~**

  


Keith’s gaze quickly darted to the creaking of the temple door, attuned to every minute sound echoing through the expansive room. Pidge shrugged the door open and walked in, hands buried deep into the pockets of her pants. Originally King Alfor had wanted her to stick to traditional female attire, but after she ripped the skirt off her dress in the middle of battle, he deemed that there would be no gender biased dressing requirements for the paladins.

Keith jumped up from the altar, Jowangshin mumbling playful insults against the nape of his neck.

Stumbling to her side, Keith grabbed her arm and asked, “Pidge, will you test Lance for poison?”

“What?!” Lance’s head jolted up from the pious bow. Scampering from his positioned by the altar, he stood anxiously, weight bouncing between the balls of his feet. “Poison?!”

Pidge raised a single eyebrow, skepticism dancing across the furrow of her brow. Without her eyes leaving Keith’s, she slammed a single hand against Lance’s chest. Pidge closed her eyes to focus, but her eyebrow was raised in skepticism.

Keith’s gaze took in all of Lance: his bloodshot eyes, beads of perspiration heavy on his forehead. He was exhibiting all symptoms Keith had been wary of, symptoms he’d been watching progress from his seat on the decorative pillows.

Suddenly, Pidge yanked her hand back, curling it against her chest. Her lips parted as the color slowly drained from her features. Shaking her head, she mumbled, “Oh my god.”

Lance stumbled backward, limbs weak and bloodshot eyes wide. Gaze cast down at his trembling palms as he swayed slightly. Keith stepped forward to steady him, catching him around the waist. The heat of Lance’s skin and the perspiration dotting his cloak were evident under Keith’s steady palms.

Pinning Pidge with teary eyes, Lance whispered, “Am I going to die?”

Pidge didn’t meet his eyes, hands clenched at her sides and gaze fixated on the stone floor.

Swallowing harshly, Lance looked back at his shaking fingers, swaying slightly in Keith’s grip. “How long do I have?” The whisper echoed through the near empty temple.

“I’m not exactly --”

“How long do I have, Pidge?!” Lance screamed, spittle flying from his mouth and knees giving out. Keith quickly wrapped his other arm around Lance’s waist, transfering all of the blue paladin’s weight into his grasp.

Relaxing into his hold, Lance laid his head on Keith’s shoulder, forehead scorching to the touch and making the fire in ignite along Keith’s fingernails in revulsion.

“I don’t know. Maybe a couple hours.” She shoved her hands back into her pockets. Biting her bottom lip and keeping her gaze cast to the floor, she walked to the altar of her Goddess.

Lance took a minute, summoning the ocean to his fingertips. It seemed to be consoling him just as Jowangshin’s fire sparked along Keith’s fingernails.

Lance’s knees became steadier and steadier beneath him as if he was slowly accepting his fate.

“There’s nothing you can do?” Lance asked, voice steadier than the panicked shock that had shook him just moments earlier.

Pidge only bowed her head deeper, shoulders trembling in muffled sobs.

Pulling from Keith’s hold, Lance marched down the hallway, head high and hands swinging at his sides. Keith quickly followed him, but Lance never gazed backwards. The blue paladin didn’t hesitate as he pushed open the door to Allura’s office.

“Lance!” She looked up, papers scattering around her desk as shock furrowed her brows. “”What’s --”

“I’m dying, and I wanted to speak to my family one last time.” Lance swallowed and clenched his trembling hands at his sides. “Please, Queen Allura.” He bowed deeply to her, and Keith watched sweat drip from his forehead to the ground as his knees trembled to hold him steady.

Allura opened her mouth to question, but she noticed the bloodshot quality of Lance’s eyes, the tremble in his hands, the pallor of his face, and the weakness of his limbs. Clenching her jaw, she walked to the other side of her desk, directing him to the small couch he had died upon in every other retelling of today.

They faced each other, knees touching as she held out her hands. Gently, Lance laid his palms in hers. Keith stood by the door, feeling like he was invading, but he didn’t want to leave. Allura closed her eyes before a barely visible, pink glow enveloped her body.

“Due to the fact that I’ve never met your family before, you are going to be the one establishing connection.” Allura coached, and Keith watched Lance’s shoulders rise and fall in a forced breath. “Please be prepared for the shock and impact of their fear as they are not accustomed to telepathy.”

Lance nodded, a fierce concentration on his face.

Shifting his weight between his feet, Keith watched the exchange in silence.

“Hi mom,” Lance whispered, tone tight and hands gripping Allura’s fiercely.

Allura parted her lips like she wanted to tell Lance he didn’t need to speak out loud for his family to hear him, but he kept talking and she didn’t have the heart to disturb him. Her eyes darted to Keith, but he was already excusing himself, nodding as he closed the door.

The sound of thundering footfalls echoed up the hallway as Hunk came barrelling towards Keith, eyes terrified.

“Hunk --”

But Keith was cut off when the yellow paladin grabbed fistfuls of his tunic while the silver pin of his cape pressed dangerously into his neck. He roughly pushed Keith up against the wall, hands trembling against Keith’s chest.

“Pidge was too afraid to ask, but I’m not,” Hunk growled, eyes narrowing as he leaned forward, any nervousness or gentle nature to his demeanour vanished. “How the hell did you know that Lance was poisoned?”

Setting a placating hand on Hunk’s fists, Keith struggled to steady his breaths. Hunk’s fist crushed his sternum, forcing air from his lungs in impatient puffs. His once gentle hand on Hunk’s clenched fist tightened in fear.

“I think Nyma’s a spy.” Keith wheezed, toes scraping the floor. With a light brush of fire at the bottom of his ribs, Jowangshin pleaded with him to let her rise to the surface and sear Hunk’s flesh as a warning against harming her son. But Keith hushed her. “She was acting suspiciously at breakfast, and then Lance started showing symptoms.”

Hunk stepped back immediately, trusting the sincerity in Keith’s tone. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Hunk’s face contorted as if this was the first time he was contemplating how to say something. The ferocity faded from his features, only leaving the lingering fear behind.

“Sorry I accused you like that Keith.” He huffed and ran a shaking hand through his hair, “I just don’t know how -- what to think. I -- I’m just kind of lost right now.”

“Lance’s talking to his family with Allura’s help, but I’m sure he’ll want to see you too.” Keith smiled weakly, but his teeth ground, jaw twitching. He could feel sparks dance along his fingernails like flint. Keith nodded and stalked off down the hallway.

Hunk called out with a voice much weaker than the thunderous bellow it had been earlier, “Keith, where are you going?”

“To see Nyma,” he growled.

  


**~~~~**

  


He was aware that Nyma’s room wouldn’t in the wing of the castle dedicated to the paladins, or in the soldier’s barracks -- where Shiro stayed rather than his room in the paladin wing. So Keith stopped several times to ask maids where the Nyma’s quarters were located. The maids blushed, giggling slightly, before pointing him in the right direction.

He was walking down a desolate hallway when the sound of a familiar voice made Keith stop. It echoed from two large glass doors set slightly ajar. The room was bursting with vibrant colors and the fresh scent as plants that climbed the walls and sought the sunlight that poured through the clear ceiling.

Pausing at the door, he glanced into see Shiro and Pidge standing perfectly poised among the foliage.

Pidge’s hands were clenched in Shiro’s plain black tunic. Her voice began as a whisper, head tipped down and shoulders shaking, only to escalate to thrashing screams. Immediately, Keith knew she was talking about Lance.

“There was too much and oh Goddess, it was like a fucking parasite consuming him. And I couldn’t -- I knew I couldn’t draw enough out to even come close to helping him. It was too far progressed!” she screamed, punching her fists into Shiro’s unmoving chest. Her shoulders trembled as tears rolled down her flushed cheeks. “I couldn’t fucking do anything!”

Fury surged through Keith’s veins like embers of a roaring fire. Turning on his heel without making a single sound, he continued down the hallway, cloak cascading behind him.

He found Nyma’s room rather easily, nestled along a hallway of noblemen’s quarters. He knocked on the thin wooden door with the back of his knuckles, and it opened slowly.

Nyma stood in a simple dress that flattered her curving figure, nothing like the plunging neckline from earlier -- meant for seduction and attention. Tilting her head to the side, she examined him, arms crossed as gloved fingers tapped the bare skin of her biceps.

“The red paladin, to what do I have the honor?” Her gazed traced Keith from under her eyelashes. Leaning against the door frame, she brought up her gloved hand to brush a strand of Keith’s long hair out of his face.

He caught her at the wrist, completely avoiding the silken touch of her gloves. Laughing casually, she played off the stiffening of her shoulders or the tension in her arms. “At least wait until we’re inside, hot stuff.”

Keith took a single step forward grabbing her other wrist, trapping her in his grasp. He pulled her against his chest so that he could lean down and whisper in her ear. Her breathing was less irregular than he thought it would be.

“So how much does Zarkon pay you?”

“What?” Nyma gasped pulling back as far as Keith’s arms let her. Panic contorted her features into something almost unrecognizable.

“Or is it that he has leverage on you?” Keith’s smile was venomous -- victorious and it tasted so good on his tongue.

Nyma ground her teeth, eyes casting to the floor as the tension in her arms relaxed. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she whispered, tilting her head up and catching his gaze.

Keith’s grip loosened slightly, vindictive anger superseded with confusion. Pushing forward against his hold, Nyma suddenly kissed him, passionately digging her tongue past his lips. She tasted of bitter almonds and desperation. He attempted to shrug her off, but she clung against his shoulders with sharpened nails.

Fire crackling along his palms, he called to Jowangshin, and she brought the sparks to life. The fire singed Nyma’s clothes with a spiteful vengeance, threatening to turn the fine cloth of her dress to crumbling ash. She yelped against his mouth, grip faltering as she stumbled back.

Keith took advantage of her opening, pushing her away with all of his force and finally separating their lips. She collapsed to the ground in her room, nails grinding against stone as she wheezed. Lips trembling she vomited on the hem of her dress.

The tension in his shoulders loosened as he stepped forward to question her. He parted his lips, but the room swam, vision warping even as he blinked to steady himself. His legs gave out, weakened and limp. The impact of his knees against the stone floor was shattering. Stomach clenching, he crawled on his hands and knees to Nyma. He tugged at her soiled hem to pull her to him.

“What did you do to me?” he slurred, choking back vomit.

She was limp in his arms, a lithe pile of silken dress and soft skin. Smiling up at him through lidded eyes, Keith saw the fake molar. The tooth was cracked down the middle, white powder coagulated in her gums. Stomach clenching and chest tightening, he vomited on the floor beside them, liquid absorbing in the woolen knees of his pants and the lacy hem of her dress.

Struggling for thought through the rough sounds of his weak breaths, Keith could only guess Nyma’s fake tooth was once filled with poison.

Poison that had tasted of bitter almonds when it coated his tongue.

Her smile slipped, vanishing into a grimace as her body convulsed in his arms. Lips quirking, she gurgled words, a trembling hand placed delicate fingers over his numb fists.

Keith couldn’t maintain a grip on Nyma as his lungs struggled for air. Slipping fully to the floor, foam gathered at the corners of her lips, eyes fading to a dull grey, head tilted to the side in a puddle of vomit and the loosened braids of her hair.

Fighting to sit up, to crawl to the door and call to his fellow paladins, Keith closed his eyes. His heart felt sluggish, a slow, rolling thunder in his ears. His lips tingled as he reached for the door, torso crumbling to the ground. The impact was a ripple of numbness throughout his body, veins shriveling and fingers locked with tightened muscles. His gaze unfocused, darkness encroaching on his vision.

He sent a whispered prayer to Jowangshin and heard her voice like the crackle of fire in his mind.

_Sleep now, child._

And Keith did.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and are excited for what is to come!!
> 
> When I’m back from con, I’ll answer all of your wonderful comments!! Thank you so much for leaving them, because I honestly cherish all the feedback ❤️


	23. Intermission: Compounding Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves hand* let's all just pretend that it's still Wednesday, okay? haha

Coran hummed, gaze narrowed while a finger twirling his mustache. He had sat there on the small steps in the podbay. On leg was crossed over the other, bouncing with thought while the paladins pieced together what they had seen: their connection through Voltron was normally something distant and vaguely emotional, a sensation of closeness and camaraderie but nothing as visual or invasive as this.

“It was like,” Pidge struggled for her words, brow furrowed and hands clenched in her lap, “like a mind meld, but so forceful.”

Lance nodded in response, remembering the way the thoughts had bombarded his senses like flashes of the future. How it felt like he was plunged into the depths of the ocean, pressure threatening to crush him and dread promising to drown him if he so much as screamed.

There was silence as Coran thought and Lance glanced up at Shiro who stood with his arms crossed, refusing to sit in this room, to look at the healthy figure of Keith in the cryopod.

“So,” Coran began as he tapped his fingers on his knee, “it appears that Keith’s emotions and thoughts overcame the normal capacity of the bond and overwhelmed you, correct?”

Hunk nodded, looking at Keith’s pod with a furrow to his brow. Lance leaned up against it, the chill of the cryopod raising goosebumps on his skin. And no one attempted to pull him away. “But what were they?” Lance mumbled, head slumping against the cool metal.

“Nightmares?” Shiro supplied, head hung and eyes distant.

“Fears?” Hunk suggested, shrugging his shoulders and picking at the loose bits of leather on his boots.

But they all felt too real to Lance, the weight of his dead body and the stench of his blood. Too real to be fears or nightmares? But if it wasn’t either one of those, what could they be?

Coran sighed, closing his eyes. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t answer that.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and for all of your lovely comments <3
> 
> You can come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!


	24. There Comes Some Purifying Sweet Belief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith wakes to another day with answers on his tongue and a plan for how to stop this day from repeating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey-o my dudes!
> 
> The chapter title is from the poem Fire-Flowers by Emily Pauline Johnson

_You must wake now, my son._

“Get up!” Kolivan yelled from his doorway, “Kogane! Get up!”

Keith jerked awake, coughing and frantically wiping at his mouth as if he could rinse off the last of the poison from his tongue. Waving Kolivan off with a limp hand, he swallowed stiffly, choking on the haunting almond taste in his mouth. His lips still tingled, and he could feel the pressure of Nyma’s demanding lips against his.

He spit toward the corner of the room.

His anger festered as he shoved his feet into boots. How many breakfasts had he sat through inadvertently watching Nyma poison Lance? Her hands flirtily dancing across Lance’s skin and slowly killing him, delicate gloves coated in lethal toxins.

Sparks danced across his fingernails as he snapped on his cloak. Striding down the hallway, he almost couldn’t contain his fury, thirsty for the taste of battle and the scent of ash on the wind.

_You could give her to me. She would make a worthy sacrifice._

Keith jumped at the sudden voice echoing in his mind. He knew instinctively that it was Jowangshin whispering to him with the deep charcoal and flickering playfulness to her tone. Despite only having sensed her intentions through the purring of the fire before, he was already familiar with her voice.

Her voice was the warmth of fire when it’s held too close to your hand and the sound of sparks catching on dry kindling. She was amused at his distresses. And her laughter was the pop of wood on the fire, explosive and vibrant.

_I could ensure that she suffers._

Fire tickled his ribs, and Keith’s anger only intensified. Instead of rising the stairs to the East Wall, he marched towards Nyma’s quarters. He knocked, but the fire jumped from his fingers and singed the door. Jowangshin whispered her bloodlust in his ears, cooing and tempting, and he shivered.

Nyma opened the door clad in a long, white shift that pooled around her feet. She held an embarrassed hand across her chest as she hid behind the door.

“Sir Keith.” She nodded slightly, and Keith was unnerved by this show of vulnerability.

 _Vulnerability?_ Jowangshin’s laughter was the crackle of fire. _Look at those eyes. She’s analyzing you._

Keith looked at her gaze that darted over his battle ready attire -- it was meticulous, hidden under her sooty eyelashes. Keith put a steaming hand on her door and pushed it open farther.

Surprise captured her features, before a confident smile pulled at the corners of her lips. She took a step back, ushering him into her room and dropping the hand that covered her breasts. The shift was gossamer thin, and Keith could almost see through it to the tender skin that lay beneath. But his eyes stayed fixated on her actions, the smooth curve of her fingers and the flick of her tongue over her teeth.

He grabbed her bare hand and brought it up between them.

“Oh,” Nyma breathed, stepping closer to him until he could feel the heat of her skin against his, “now you’re attempting to romance me?”

Keith summoned Jowangshin’s fire to his fingertips, and she gave it freely, starved for sacrifices. Nyma flinched in his grasp, but the fire didn’t touch her skin, dancing over Keith’s fingernails like a warning.

“Where’s the poison?” he growled, grip tightening on her slender fingers despite hearing the small crack of bones beneath his hand.

“What?” Nyma squeaked, attempting to pull back from his grasp, once again covering herself with her free hand.

“The poison on the gloves!” he snarled, fire engulfing their hands in greedy tendrils. Nyma screamed, ear shattering and violent. “Who ordered you to kill Lance?” Her free hand raked down his forearm with desperation, collecting skin and hair underneath her fingernails. But the fire only sparked in his palm for a second before he quelled it.

Jowangshin pouted, and Keith shushed her. She would get her sacrifices soon enough.

 _Petulant child_ , Jowangshin laughed quietly in the back of his mind.

“How do you contact the Galra?”

“Fuck you,” Nyma growled, tongue flicking and opening the false tooth, poison spilling onto her tongue before Keith could ask anymore questions. She dropped to the ground, seizing and writhing as the poison took hold. Vomit pulled at the corners of her mouth and dribbled into her braids and the thin fabric of her shift.

_A worthy sacrifice. Give her to me._

And Keith couldn’t resist the soft urging of her voice as he extended his hand and watched Nyma be consumed by his own flames before the poison could kill all of her senses.

He walked from Nyma’s room with a relaxation to his shoulders as Jowangshin whispered praises into his mind. The hushed and melodic sound of her voice allowed him to drift and finally allow himself to relax since he’d first faced Zarkon all those days ago. The feeling of smoke ghosted over the recesses of his mind. She spoke to him about sacrifices and battles and fires, and Keith listened, so enthralled by her stories and her charcoal voice.

The sound of approaching footsteps banished some of the smoke from his mind. He realized he had been wandering the castle without destination for an unknown amount of time. Placing his hand on the wall, dizziness overcame him.

“What’s happening?” he mumbled as he placed a single hand in front of his face, watching it fade in and out of focus as sparks seemed to settle in the fine lines of his palm.

_It seems my presence is too great for your mind to handle, my son._

Growling, he struggled to take a step, but a slapping hand across his cheek pulled him out of his delusions. His cheekbone smarted with sparks as his eyes drifted into focus on the figure in front of him.

The queen stood before him, radiant with anger and frustration. Her cheeks were flushed as she drew her hand back for another strike, “Tell me where you were this morning!”

Keith opened his mouth, but no sound came out. The only thing his mind processed was Allura’s screaming over the crackle of fire in his ears, “You were to man the East Wall with Lance.”

At the name a sudden gust of wind quenched the fire in his mind.

“Lance,” he breathed, and with an awareness of saving him, relaxation settled in his tense shoulders. His vision cleared, and he finally registered the expression on the Queen’s face. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot with a flush of dignified anger on her cheeks.

“Yes, Lance. Where’s Lance?” Keith slurred, sparks dancing across his fingernails and head tilting to the side.

Allura pressed a palm against his chest, pushing him back against the wall as if to punish or steady him. “He’s dead, Keith. The Galra mages killed him before the battle was won.”

Keith collapsed to his knees despite Allura’s steadying hand on his chest. He couldn’t hear anything over the roar of fire in his mind that crackled against his bones like kindling. His fingers dug into his scalp, nails piercing and trembling, searching for an anchor in the raging fire of his mind.

He hunched his shoulders and felt the burn of his muscles as he screamed, screamed so loud that he couldn’t hear the snap of flames.

But Jowangshin purred to him over the wildfire of his emotions.

_Calm, my child. You can just begin this day again. You shall save him next time._

He didn’t question how Jowangshin knew about the his infinite time loop, the cycle that pinned him to this day and spun him -- round and round until he vomited and cried for mercy. He merely trusted the softness and compassion of her tone. He’d allowed her permission once before to send him into slumber -- so how was this any different?

_Come, let us begin again._

And the fire cradled him once again.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!! ((also Jowangshin is my fav haha)) 
> 
> Sorry for the late update, but I was actually finishing up an exchange piece that I wrote! It's a soulmate Klance piece (a 15k one shot with a companion piece in the works!) if you want to check it out [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15973478)!!
> 
> Also, thank you so much for all of your comments and kudos, because they seriously make my day (even if it's just screaming or an emoji since it lets me know that y'all are still reading and enjoying!)
> 
> You can also come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!
> 
> Next chapter we get a lot of answers that you've been looking for!! (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ


	25. Intermission: Bloodshot

The 16 days since the battle with Zarkon ended had gone by slowly, achingly slow with short nights and long days.

Lance wasn’t sure when Pidge began documenting all of the different ways Keith had died, but he saw that depressing spreadsheet -- marked with times, the length of the alarm, and Keith’s lethal symptoms. Every day was timed and mapped out. And Lance almost envied her, because at least with science she was attempting to wrap her mind around what they were witnessing. But he was left with his nightmares and imagination.

Leaning his head against her shoulder, he watched her fingers fly across the keyboard. “What’re you doing?” he mumbled.

“I’m running a predictive analysis on the data, so that I can try to predict what might happen tomorrow.” She rubbed at her bloodshot eyes with the palms of her hands, pushing her glasses up into her bangs. “But I can’t get a concrete answer on what’s going to happen or why it’s happening,” she growled under her breath, fists slamming on to her thighs as if she couldn’t hold back the rage.

Lance wrapped a hand around her trembling fist, slowly uncurling her fingers as his eyes traced the bitten and jagged edges to her nails. With a sigh, he spoke, “I understand how --”

“No you don’t!” Pidge yelled, slamming her laptop closed and turning her face away from him.

Lance’s heart constricted, wind knocked out of his chest with the force of her words. But he watched how her shoulders trembled, how young she looked with her bangs hiding the tears that glistened in her eyes.

“I’m supposed to have the answers,” she whimpered as her shaking hands clenched the hem of her sweatshirt. “I found Matt and my Dad. I stopped Sendak from taking the castle. I’m the coding prodigy, so no you can’t possibly understand how I’m feeling right now.”

Squeezing his eyes closed, Lance forced the hurt that swelled in his lungs to dissipate. They were all struggling. He’d barely seen the rest of the team, and when he had, the conversation had been so stilted it was painful. Leaning against the wall, he allowed his eyes to watch Keith’s figure through the blue-tinted glass of the cryopod, settling on that small smile.

Sighing, Lance let his gaze drift to Pidge beside him. “I understand how hard it is to feel useless. Like there’s nothing you can do to help someone.” Pidge straightened, looking over her shoulder at Lance, eyes watery and bottom lip clamped between her teeth. “But you’re right, I can’t possibly grasp the weight that’s on your shoulders.”

In a flash of movement, Pidge was wrapping her arms around Lance’s neck and burying her face in the shoulder of his jacket.

Shushing her with soft whispers, Lance dragged his fingers through her hair and rubbed circles against her back. “You don’t have to carry this burden alone, okay?”

She nodded against him, fingers tightening in the fabric of his jacket.

  


**~~~**

  


Later that day, after Lance had forced Pidge to get some sleep in her own bed, Red finally came back online. With the massive damage done to the cockpit, Hunk and Coran had been busy working on her -- it served as a worthy distraction from Keith’s current status.

Tipping her head back, her roar resonated through the whole castle as she planted her feet and shook her head.

Lance had been in the middle of a meal when the call of fury had made him drop his spoon against the table, splattering food goo. A bitter hope burst in his chest, because if Red was back, was she roaring for Keith?

Was Keith finally awake?

The entire team sprinted to the red lion’s hangar -- sleep still heavy on Pidge’s lids and Allura’s hair a mess of knots and curls -- only to see Hunk and Coran shutting the door with beads of sweat dripping down their faces.

“Why I’ve never seen a lion react like that before,” Coran commented, wiping his forehead with the back of his forearm. “Like an angry yelmor if I’ve ever seen one!”

Hunk nodded, slumping against the wall, sweat darkening his shirt. “She was pissed,” he breathed.

The team didn’t need to say anything else, all too aware of how Red felt, her emotions seared into the darkest corners of their minds. Among the fragments of Keith’s scattered thoughts was the feeling that had overcome them during the battle: Red’s fury.

Red didn’t let anyone enter the hangar again.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where did all of this Pidge angst come from?? (ಥ﹏ಥ) I still think her scene in season 6 where she saves everyone (yet again) from Kuron's virus really kills me. She's so young to have such a weight on her shoulders, and I can only assume that she would try her hardest in this AU and put so much pressure on herself to figure out what's going on with Keith
> 
> Also Red is a good mom-lion <3
> 
> Thanks for all your comments and kudos (°◡°♡)


	26. Life revives, and blossoms once again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *opens doors to the banquet hall* welcome all to this angst feast haha
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter!!
> 
> The title of this chapter is from the poem Fire-Flowers by Emily Pauline Johnson

_My son, wake before the soldier comes. We have much to do today._

Keith stumbled to alertness, ash coating his tongue and whispers of flames in his mind. Rubbing at his head, his fingers skittered across his skin. There was a scalding lightness to his fingers and toes that seemed to crackle like static. Rising to his feet, his knees gave out. His hands flung out to catch himself as he careened to the floor. The pain resonating through the palms of his hands and along his jaw were the only things keeping him grounded.

“What’s happening to me?” Keith stuttered, lips tingling as he pushed himself from the ground.

Jowangshin voice rolled over him like smoke rising from a fire. _You have allowed me too close to your heart for the sake of power, little one. And with the amount of times you’ve repeated this day, our fates have only woven more tightly together._

“You know I’ve been repeating today?” Keith whispered; relief, shuttering and all encompassing consumed him. The feeling that someone finally understood what he’d been going through was as light as air.

Because even if Allura had understood him that one sunny afternoon, she had forgotten him the next day. And yet Jowangshin’s comprehension seemed to lighten the waters, fathoms below the surface, where despair had made itself a home. Like an undertow finally dislodging him from beneath the wave pinning him to the sand.

Keith struggled to sit up, rubbing a numb hand across his aching jaw.

Jowangshin chuckled like cracking wood, _You expect too little from a Goddess, boy. I sensed your disturbance the second you ripped through dimensions and plunged into this body._

“So you know what’s happening to me?”

Keith waited, breath shallow and rapid. His heartbeat stuttered in his chest. Everything was a wash of colors and muted sounds as his eyes drifted in and out of focus.

 _I can see the burning cords of your fate, but it appears to have been_ , she paused as if she was looking for the correct words as to not overwhelm her very vulnerable paladin, _intertwined with the son of Yemaya, Lance as you have called him. However, it is not simply in this dimension. You’ve been bound to his fate across several dimensions._

Keith staggered to a standing position, forcing his feet to pace the stone floor of his room. There was too much pent up energy in his tingling limbs, tickling his skin and begging for release. “So, you’re saying that I have to travel between fucking dimensions to save Lance’s life?”

Her silence was deafening. She had never been quiet from the moment he had summoned her, sparking and bubbling and rolling in his stomach. And yet now, she had nothing to say.

“How many?”

_How many of what?_

“How many dimensions will I have to go to? How many times will I have to see Lance die? How many times will I have to live today?” Keith clenched his hands at his sides, closing his eyes tightly enough to see lights dance behind his eyelids.

_Even I cannot answer that, my son. Now, there is no time to waste. Please get ready._

“No!” Keith screamed, punching the wall and kicking at his soft leather boots. The room was too small, tight and confining and constricting his racing heart. The walls too close and condensing.

He would continue to watch Lance die. No, not only watch but fail to prevent it, day after day. With his very hands, he would feel Lance’s blood and ashes in every world as the bonds of fate curled tighter around his heart.

His breathing was shallow, racing as vision waned. He wanted to bring fire to his fists and burn the entire castle to ash, thrashing in the injustice of it all. With a growl, he summoned the magic to his palms and slammed his fists on the bed, but the woolen blanket didn’t even singe.

“Jowangshin,” he growled, so informal with the Goddess of fire.

_Please get ready, Keith. I don’t know what will happen to your mind if you fail today._

The sound of his name on her crackling voice startled him into submission. He thrust his feet into boots and clasped his red cloak around his shoulders. Opening the door, he saw Kolivan marching down the corridor.

“Kogane!” Kolivan bellowed, “We’re under attack! Man the East Wall!”

Nodding, Keith sprinted toward the spiral staircase. He could feel Jowangshin keeping quiet at the edges of his mind. It reminded him so much of Red that he smiled.

_Now, give me worthy sacrifices, paladin._

With the flick of his wrist, fire consumed half of the Galra army, liquefying the very swords they attempted to wield. The scent of burnt hair and the screams of agony permeated the air, causing a grin to pull on his lips.

The taste of victory was so much like ash.

This was a magnitude of power Keith hadn’t even begun to imagine. Nothing comparable to his past days.

The fire burned bright blues and reds as it spread its fingers to encapsulate soldiers. The sound of bubbling metal armor, gleaming like mercury, and shrieks of anguish were almost lost to the crackle of the flames. Horses whinnied and bucked their riders into molten ground. The sizzle of bodies for kindling and bones snapping in the fire. The smell of burned hair and charred skin.

He and Jowangshin smiled en tandem.

“Keith!”

Keith turned on his heel to see Lance running down the top of the East Wall. His cloak was billowing behind him, blue and almost iridescent in the morning sun. There was a slight gleam of sweat on his forehead and a furrow to his brows. His limbs were well-muscled and defined even under the baggy tunic and cloak.

Smiling brightly, Keith jumped to the wall-walk and embraced Lance before the blue paladin could question his actions. He was stiff in Keith’s arms, but Keith nestled his face against the Lance’s neck, allowing himself to enjoy every part of _this_ Lance.

“I’m so glad that you’re alright,” he whispered against Lance’s skin. And for a moment there was only Lance, his soft scent and the calming embrace of his arms.

_We don’t have time for this reminiscing, son. You’ll see him tomorrow in another world._

He snapped at her, “Jowangshin, this is my last day with _this_ Lance. Have some compassion!”

Lance pulled himself from the hug, fingers sharp and digging into the flesh of Keith’s shoulders. He had the shuddering realization that he had said everything aloud. The grounding pain of Lance’s grip was the only thing he could think of for a minute as Lance scanned his face, eyes narrow and lips pursed in a tight line.

Keith knew what Lance would see: the glassiness to his eyes, the slackness to his mouth, and the emptiness to his words.

“What’ve you done?” Lance whispered, horror loosening his grip and weakening his knees.

Keith brought a sparking hand to Lance’s cheek. Lance was too rigid to lean into Keith’s warm touch, so Keith gently stroked his fingers across Lance’s soft skin. “I’m going to protect you.” He smiled weakly.

_My child, you must finish this battle._

He pulled away from Lance, already missing the warmth of his body but Jowangshin’s fire bubbled at his skin to compensate.

Turning towards the battle, he mapped where scorch marks dotted the grass and where the rest of their enemies stood. With the simple raise of his hand, he incinerated the remains of the Galra army, ignoring the shocked gazes of the Voltron forces as they glanced up at him: standing atop the parapet with his red cape flowing in the breeze and a twisted smile on his features.

Jowangshin chuckled warmly at his petulant impatience. Keith couldn’t help the laughter that flared in his lungs, not even sure what he found funny. His eyes lost focus as he turned away from the scent of burned bodies and the small fires that still consuming clumps of hair and coagulated flesh.

Grabbing at Lance’s hand, he pulled the blue paladin towards the stairs and away from the remnants of the battle. Lance hadn’t said anything, no quippish comment or snarky joke.

There were fleeting moments when the only thing Keith could focus on was the small tremble in Lance’s lithe fingers.

At the bottom of the stairs, Keith pressed his hands on either side of Lance, pinning him against the wall. He heard the small noise of surprise and protest Lance made in the back of his throat.

Closing his eyes, he listened for Jowangshin’s guiding words. But she was surprisingly quiet, sated by the sacrifices Keith had given her.

“Nyma’s a spy,” Keith announced, opening his eyes and trying to follow the emotions that flicked across Lance’s expression.

“Keith,” his tone was pitying, “You've been Enthralled.” And it seemed like there was more he wanted to say, but he couldn't find the words.

He begged Jowangshin for her advice, but she didn't answer even in the puff of smoke from the rolling fire in his stomach. Grinding his teeth, he shook his head, because he didn’t need her guidance. He knew how to talk to Lance -- even if it wasn't his Lance.

Taking a step back and dropping his hands to his sides, he began again, “Nyma’s a spy ordered by the Galra to kill you. During breakfast, she’ll be wearing gloves with this contact poison coating them. She’ll poison you, and you’ll die before the sun sets.”

Lance’s expression didn't change, skepticism and pity tracing the fine laugh lines of his face. “If you don't believe me, take me to Allura and she’ll confirm everything I’ve claimed.”

It proceeded much like the second time this Lance died.

Keith was standing in Allura’s office, heels pressed heavily into the stone floor as a means to keep himself steady. Sitting behind her large desk, Allura folded her hands in front of her, suspicion clear on her face.

And Lance -- _this_ Lance not _his_ Lance -- stood off to the side, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed as if mimicking nonchalance. His expression hadn't relaxed. Not since Keith had seen him running atop the East Wall this morning.

“Keith, I cannot examine your mind while you're so deeply Enthralled. Jowangshin is not forgiving, and I do not wish her wrath.” Allura’s voice was steady, but her hands were clasped so tightly they shook.

_Petulant child knows not what she speaks. This is the only way to save you, and therefore I will allow her and the power granted by her Goddess to visit my domain._

“She has given her permission.” And as a demonstration of the statement, fire burst to life across Keith’s chest and dissipated in a breath. Keith could feel his language altering, sounding more like Jowangshin’s; the tone formal as his words shifted to reflect what she had been whispering all of these days. He was losing an understanding of how he once spoke.

His posture wavered like candle light.

Walking forward, his feet landed exaggeratingly on the stone floor as if to keep his balance. His head tilted dramatically to the side. Poor imitation of human curiosity. He tried to smile calmly, but from the cringe that coursed over Allura’s features, he was aware of his failure.

Unclasping her hands, she reached forward as if to take Keith’s. She faltered, unsure of how to proceed, hands hanging in the air. Keith spoke as calmly as possible, voice like the calm whisper Jowangshin used. “Please don't be afraid. I'm prepared. This isn't the first time we’ve done this.”

Slowly, so slowly, it seemed that her curiosity won out as Allura’s aura intensified its glow. A pink illumination surrounded her, soft and warm and inviting. Fingertips brushed against the backs of his hands before dropping to the table.

She closed her eyes.

Keith felt her probing fingers at the edge of his mind. Delicate like lace or the tendrils of a dying flame. And like a torrent of memories, Keith remember those last moments within Red or the first moments after Lance’s death or the way ice crystals had splintered inside his lungs when the airlock had released him to space. Opening his mind, the door swung wide for those cautious fingers.

It was an explosion of color as tender fingertips pressed against his mind. Reds and yellows and blues that threatened to drown him -- tears and eyes and ocean waves. He whimpered slightly, throat constricting. Jowangshin shushed him, and he leaned into her comforting presence.

When Allura finally pulled her gentle touch away from Keith’s mind, it was like a tether snapping. Keith’s vision spun, steadying himself on the desk, wooden and real beneath his fingertips. Brushing the grains, smooth against his skin.

A muffled sob, and Keith’s eyes jolted up. Allura, Queen of the realm, and tears were staining her flushed cheeks. Hair like starlight wisps at her shoulders.

“Your highness,” Lance was suddenly at her side, lithe fingers embracing her shoulders as an accusatory gaze settled on Keith. “What did you show her?”

Allura placed a calming hand on Lance’s arm. “Bring me Shiro. And tell Kolivan that no one leaves this castle,” she commanded, words almost watery in Keith’s ears, warbled and spun like sea foam. It took a moment for Keith to understand. There was a small smile of thanks on Allura’s face.

Had he finally saved this Lance?

_You’ve done well, little one._

Keith nodded, relief making his knees weak.

He stumbled to the couch. The couch, where Lance had died, ashes and flames and the scent of charred vanilla. Soft cushions enveloped him. He ran a lazy finger through the soft fabric, a small chuckle building in his chest.

The fabric of the couch was rough, not unlike the couch in his shed. His haphazard bed. The nights had been cold after he was kicked from the Garrison. But Iverson’s face. That black eye after all of his harsh words. Worth it.

How long had it been since he’d been back there. Finding Shiro like a guiding light. And the blue lion and how close she’d felt to Keith’s mind only for her to choose Lance.

Lance. The blue paladin. His friend.

Jowangshin laughed, fire tickling his lungs. Keith was drawn from his thoughts, eyes spinning until he closed them. He allowed Jowangshin to spin stories of her dimension and the few number of people she called her children.

Time passed in sluggish increments. Watching silently from the couch, Jowangshin directed his attention to a girl -- braids disheveled and curling around her face as she was dragged in by her bound hands. Her spittle and vile words flying, almost foaming at the lips. A girl he recognized -- inquisitive, sultry eyes turning to him for a split second. He watched the way Allura had placed her hands to the girl’s temples. She screamed, thrashing and seizing against the invasive touch of Allura’s mind.

He trembled in response to her screams, and Jowangshin drew him back into her stories, constant as the sun in her everlasting memory.

He watched the way several others were brought to Allura’s room as Jowangshin’s voice told him tales of the mages attempted to win her power but not her heart. Almost watched an entire interrogation before his eyes slipped closed.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_My son, you must wake now._

With the tentative coo of her voice, Keith’s eyes flickered open. Vision swimming with bright colors and the remnants of her vivid stories. All the paladins gathered in the Queen’s small office. Jowangshin withdrew as far as she was able, a bonfire he had to peer through to see the expressions of his friends.

Stumbling to his feet, the world spun in and out of focus. His body swayed in the tide, an undercurrent of Jowangshin’s euphoric voice threatening to capsize his consciousness. Cool hands steadied him. Flashes of blue, of daring and compassionate bue.

Lance stood next to him, a strong hand wound around his waist. Cool against his warm skin. Keith leaned his head against Lance’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of cedar that lingered on his skin.

Touching his nose to the delicate column of Lance’s throat, feeling the stiff inhale.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Keith,” Allura’s voice was soft, a gentle breeze bringing his attention to her. His eyes opened, heavy and tired. The sun shone through the window behind her, casting her hair in starlight strands, a halo around her benevolent face.

“We can never thank you enough for your sacrifice.” And then the Queen of Altea rounded her desk and bowed to him. Hair pooling around her shoulders in a cascade of mercury.

~~Mercury like melted armor and swords plunged into seared ground. The smell of char and blood and burnt hair. The taste of ash and victory.~~

There was a stuttered gasp from his throat as he watched all of the paladins, save for Lance, bow to him as well, heads bent and cloaks swirling around their shins.

He struggled for words, throat convulsing with no sound emerging. Tongue heavy, ashy with the taste of blood. Jowangshin reemerged, pushing him slightly, and the words spilled in his new formal tone. So different from his own words, the ones that begged and thrashed against the fire that consumed his mind. “No, please do not bow. My quest is not as noble as you claim.” He waved a singular hand in front of him, “It is merely my fate, and I need no thanks for it.”

“You’ve not only saved Lance, but the entire kingdom of Altea,” Allura explained slowly. So slowly. Each word pronounced and emphasized. ~~Drawn out like viscous blood from her lips~~.

And Keith could understand that she was speaking so that he could comprehend her, mind tripping to catch up.

“Zarkon was planning to start the next attack from within the castle, and finish us off with the rest of his army from the outside. We’ve weeded out approximately sixteen people loyal to the Galra and stopped his plan. All thanks to you.”

The hand around his waist tightened, and Keith lifted his head off Lance’s shoulder. Blue, striking and wide and everything but the briny scent of the ocean. Spirals and whirlwinds of color.

~~The ocean captured in an iris. Like bubbling fingers and a sunshine smile.~~

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“When I leave tonight, will this Keith stay?”

_I'm unable to determine that due to the absence of the original red paladin of this dimension. It is my hope that he will return for I will miss you, my son._

But he had at least completed his purpose. His fate. Twined so tightly with Lance’s, it was almost indistinguishable.

  
  
  
  


Lance.

_This_ Lance, and the soft, soft shoulder he nuzzled into.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“I saved you,” Keith breathed along Lance’s neck.

His eyes fluttered open to see that all of the paladin’s had left the room. The couch, soft and enveloping in cushions beneath them ---

~~Lance had died here, suited that Keith would too. Body limp and supported by Lance’s.~~

His arm was still wound around Keith’s waist, cool against his heating skin.

He wasn't sure how long Jowangshin had spoken to him, but by the low sunlight in the building it was a while. Had he lived to see the sunsets of this realm before? Faded reds and yellows chasing the vibrant sun.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He was fading.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Was this what it was like to fade away? To become nothing but _smoke_ and **ash**? To burn the coals, the midnight oil, the kindling, until there was nothing left but hollow wax?

Lance turned to him with a watery smile. “You did. You saved me.” Lance pressed a hand to his mouth as if he was holding back a sob, chest trembling against Keith’s cheek.

Keith reached forward and fumbled for Lance’s hand. Lithe fingers, delicate and enchanting ---

~~spinning stories and explaining Spanish and summoning the very ocean to his fingertips.~~

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Can I watch you play with the ocean?”

Lance paused, breath caught in his chest. He swirled his fingers and the briny water coated each finger, bubbling up and falling down again. Scent like the battlefield, like the Altean pool, like the home Lance had explained in such detail Keith could feel the sand between the toes and smell the ocean on the breeze.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“So beautiful. You move just like my Lance.” Keith inhaled deeply, nose nestled against the skin of Lance’s neck. “Smell just like him too.”

Lance’s laugh was weak in his throat, “I know, I know, Keith. I smell like a wet dog and a fish had a baby, you've told me that before.”

“No, you smell like home.” Keith nuzzled into Lance’s shoulder.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


There was smoke capsizing his brain. Dragging and pulling and extinguishing. Jowangshin was humming delicately in his mind. A lullaby?

“Your Keith may return once I leave. Jowangshin hopes so too.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Lance held him tighter, cool fingers pressing into his numbing skin. Speaking to him in words Keith couldn't hear anymore.

There was crackling fire and the soft singing of Jowangshin in his mind. His fingers sparked and tingled. Fire in the pit of his stomach, tickling with laughter and rolling with anger, exploded and claimed his heart in an embrace.

 _Goodbye, my son._ Her words were a wildfire across his mind, eating and destroying memories and bodily functions. His hands seized, and his charred heart faltered. _I will continue to love and miss you for eternity. No other has accepted me the way you have, and even though it has destroyed you, it has made me love you all the more._

“I love you,” Keith whispered with the last breath in his lungs and the final beat of his heart. There was nothing left but fire and smoke. And it consumed his mind.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, the ending of this arc really really chokes me up every time that I've edited it (╥﹏╥) more so then any other part of this fic ~~maybe because I love Jowangshin so much haha~~. . . 
> 
> I'm curious as to what all of your thoughts are -- does the Keith from that dimension come back once our Keith leaves to go elsewhere?? Let me know all your thoughts!!
> 
> But I hope you've enjoyed this arc and are excited for the next one!!
> 
> Thank you so much for all of your comments and kudos, because they honestly mean the world to me and let me know that you're still reading. Even if the comments are just screaming or emojis, I honestly love them all (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡
> 
> You can also come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!


	27. Intermission: Cloves and Cinnamon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome back!!
> 
> Soooo some sad news: I may need to reduce updates to only once a week. This is mainly because I'm not writing as fast as I thought I would. I have a decent amount of material left to post, but between editing each chapter and real life, I haven't had a chance to write more of this fic, and I want to keep up consistent updates. So I may lower it to only once a week (I hope it doesn't have to become less frequent then that, but I'll keep you updated)
> 
> Sorry for the sad news (╥﹏╥)

The day Red awoke and barred everyone from her hangar, Lance actually tried to sleep in his bed -- muscles and neck aching from the nights spent slumped against the wall of the pod bay. But he tossed and turned, skin slicked with sweat and fingers bunching in the sheets as he was constantly weary of what could be happening to Keith. He was unsettled and panicked.

With trembling fingers, he pulled the pillow over his head and screamed.

Even with his eyes closed, he could still see the way that Red sprinted across space. Could feel the impact of her against Blue’s hull. Could feel the bombardment of Keith’s thoughts. Could see the explosion of the Komar hit Red and the ion cannon sheared off her jaw.

And then the weight of Keith in his arms, the smell of his blood -- all copper and iron in the air -- as he dripped down his armor and slicked the floor under his feet as he ran, ran, _ran_ to the cryopod. Only to hear those gargled last words, a whimpered prayer in a language he didn’t even know Keith spoke.

He jolted upright, head dizzy and heart thundering in his chest. Jumping out of bed, he sprinted to the room next door to him.

As the door slid open silently, he almost expected to see Keith nestled in the blankets and still dressed in his jeans and shirt. But as the light flashed on when he stepped through the threshold, there was no one there.

The room was bland, the same it had been when they arrived with no decorations. Which was surprising, judging by the way Keith had decorated his shack. Lance wasn’t sure if it was because Keith lacked the time or the supplies or the care.

In the distraction of Keith’s room, the panic that had wormed its way into Lance’s heart had dissipated with each steady exhale.

Lance ran a hand over Keith’s unmade bed, cold and forgotten. Pulling the sheet up to his face, he nestled his nose in the scent. Without another thought, he buried himself into Keith’s bed, enjoying the comforting scent of cloves and cinnamon.

He slept well for the first time in 16 nights.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!!
> 
> A parallel between Keith sleeping in Lance's bed and now Lance sleeping in Keith's?? Whaaaat? haha
> 
> You can come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!


	28. Where I’m Not the Only Dead Man Walking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He'd saved Lance, and he was happy no matter how difficult saying goodbye to Jowangshin or Lance was.
> 
> He was only afraid where he'd wake up today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy y'all, are you ready for my favorite arc?? (ง ื▿ ื)ว

A firm hand shook him awake, dragging him slowly from sleep. He smiled slightly, pulling the fraying blanket to his chin and reaching out for Jowangshin -- only to feel nothing. Just the emptiness of his own mind. Sorrow hollowed out his chest with bitter fingers. His breath caught in his throat, and he almost wanted to hear Kolivan shout his name. But there was only the soft whisper of his name.

“Keith.”

Opening his eyes, he peered into Pidge’s face and knew that he wasn’t home yet. The set of her jaw was different, hardened by battle and loss. He sat up, feeling for the dagger under his makeshift pillow. He slid it into the sheath around his waist and looked to Pidge.

“It’s your watch.” She handed him the shotgun that was settled so familiarly in her hands. He ran a hand through his hair and quickly retwisted the length up into a tight bun. She nodded and snuggled into the position he had just been sleeping, pulling the threadbare blanket up to her chest and curling into a small ball.

At least this Pidge still looked the same when sleeping.

Lance, Shiro, and Hunk were all arranged around his makeshift bed. Their bags served as lumpy pillows. And everyone slept with a weapon within arms reach, laid at the edges of their blankets or curled against their sides or propped against their pillows.

He swallowed harshly and walked the path Pidge had come, using the small spark of familiarity to guide him to the entrance. Hunkering down by a window, he had a wide view of the surrounding plains. He was comforted by the familiar knowledge that the small shed they were in was backed to a river, meaning that there was one less area to watch and defend.

Settling into position, he felt the grooves his toes had dug into the insoles of his shoes. There was a grittiness to his body and his clothes that he knew after living in the desert for a year was from going days or weeks without a shower. His shirt was threadbare, hanging a little limply on his body and over his tight and form fitting undershirt.

There was the familiar weight of his dagger around his waist. He also felt a small dagger in the heel of his boot. Pidge had left a baseball bat with nails driven haphazardly into it leaning by the window.

He shivered at the thought of what they could be on the watch for.

“A ti, Jowangshin, elevo mi alma,” he whispered the small prayer and longed to hear her small chuckle or feel the flicker of fire in his stomach. But there was nothing.

He was alone.

  


**~~~~**

  


When his feet began to numb from crouching at the window, he saw movement in the trees just ahead. It was staggering and jolted. His stomach burned as familiarity sparked in his mind, sweat coating his palms gripping so tightly around the shotgun.

And suddenly his limbs were moving. He kicked at Shiro’s shoes and whispered harshly, “I saw them.”

In a second, everyone was armed and ready. Standing by their beds and grabbing the weapons they had cradled so close.

It was in that moment that he realized everyone slept completely dressed and prepared for action. Shoes tied and jackets slung around their waists. Their steps were silent as they each marked a different window in the small shack.

Hunk carried a large ax in his hands, and Keith felt nauseous at how easily he handled it. Hunk was meant to handle baked goods and guns if a weapon at all. But an ax with it’s short handle and flayed blade meant front line action. It meant blood and looking into your enemies eyes as you killed them. And Hunk wasn’t meant for that -- but from the scar that slashed his jaw and the grit of his teeth, Keith realized that he wasn’t like any other Hunk he’d known.

Pidge picked up the baseball bat from its position by the window. She spit in each of her hands and choked up on the bat. Her eyes held their normal serious and analytical gaze, watching the edge of the forest for the movement that had shot warnings through Keith’s sense of familiarity.

Lance stood at a window with the glass shattered in several of the panes. He pulled back his bow and arrow, poised and ready to shoot, fingers brushing his cheek. Keith remembered the moment they had all met up hours after The Announcement, and Lance brought along his archery supplies with a small joke about “finally becoming Robin Hood.”

But all jokes soon died, because he remembered the frantic news and the sirens and the mass pandemonium.

“Keith,” Shiro whispered, handing him a crowbar. One edge was crudely sharpened down to a point. It felt natural in his hands as he gripped it.

Shiro positioned himself at the window next to Keith, fastening the belt at his waist with several hammers hanging low on his hips. He pulled one free, tossing it in his right hand to test the weight. A jagged scar ran down the length of his right arm.

Keith missed the lightness of the Shiro from Jowangshin’s dimension.

There was movement in the treeline again.

The group froze. Didn’t move. Didn’t even fucking breathe as it stumbled out of the trees.

It was a person, limping and bleeding. But every instinct in his body screamed at him not to relax his guard. He gazed at the person more intently, looking over their features: the drag of their twisted foot, the soft moans that sounded more from hunger than agony, the skin peeling back from their muscles.

“Zombie,” he hissed.

“A lone walker,” Pidge scowled, lowering her baseball bat slightly. “Lance take it out.” And without hesitation the arrow flew and embedded into the zombie’s eye. It stuttered for a second before dropping to the ground.

Pidge dropped her baseball bat back to the ground and crawled into Keith’s slipshod bed. Shiro quickly went to her side whispering quietly in her ear. Keith couldn’t understand what they were saying, but it seemed like Pidge had the final say. He had never seen her so ruthless.

Lance opened the small door to the shack, but no one but Keith seemed startled by it.

He grabbed Lance’s hand and yanked him back, “What the hell are you doing?”

“I only have a limited number of arrows, Keith. You know this.” Lance pulled out of Keith’s hold.

Keith’s heart constricted. He knew his fate. He knew how it twisted and twined with Lance’s, and if he could go out into the field and protect Lance in anyway he could, he would do it.

“Lance,” Keith hissed, stepping in front of the other boy, “I’ll go.” And without another word, Keith marched out the door and through the grassy field, crowbar gripped tightly.

The field was marshy. His feet squelched with each step and the sound seemed to echo in the open. The moon was full and high, lighting the night as he picked his way across the field. The zombie laid in a crumpled pile of limbs and rotting flesh near the treeline, and the stench of its decaying flesh drifted in the soft evening breeze.

It looked like it was once a woman, a dress tattered and stained swirled around its thighs. Its hands were shaped more like claws, twisted in the tall grasses. Pieces of its flesh flapped along its cheek in the small breeze over the river. Lance’s arrow, adorned with blue fletching feathers, stuck out of the decomposing eye, splattering its pale skin with inky blood.

With a grimace, Keith pulled the arrow from its eye with a sickening pop.

Its fingers twitched and without thought Keith rammed his crowbar deep into the neck. Again and again and again as it made small cries -- hungry and thrashing and coated with agony -- as blackened, rotting blood splattered on its clothes and across the grass. The muscles resisted and the spine cracked and finally shattered as the crowbar ripped its head from its body.

He was breathing rapidly. Looking around him for any signs that the noise of tearing flesh and the bludgeoning of softened skin gave him away.

There was nothing.

He was alone.

He rushed back to the shack, arrow in hand and heart thundering in his chest. Pidge sat up in her bed, watching Keith with a narrowed gaze and crossed arms. There was something authoritative with how she looked at him.

Hunk waited by the window, on watch with his ax relaxed in his grip. The shotgun was propped against the window by his feet. He knew they refrained from using it since the gunfire was loud and only ended up attracting more zombies.

He handed the arrow off to Lance who hadn’t really moved from where Keith had left him standing by the door.

“Each of us is responsible for our own weapons,” Pidge reprimanded. “That was established Day Three, Keith.” He had noticed how pristine everyone’s weapon was. His crowbar dripped darkened, coagulated blood onto the floor of the shack. Walking to his bag, he dragged out a torn cloth specifically for this purpose and cleaned off his weapon.

He pulled the towel along the length of his weapon, before answering Pidge, “Yeah, I know.”

“Well, if you know, then why did you go retrieve Lance’s arrow?”

His hand tightened along the sharpened area of his crowbar. Pain jolted along his flesh, fingers protesting and almost slicing through the towel. He could feel Pidge’s and Lance’s eyes on him. Hunk’s were fixated outside, and Shiro was busy polishing his unused hammers.

“Maybe because I just wanted to, okay Pidge?” Keith growled, snapping his gaze up to her. She ground her jaw, and tapped her fingers along her arm.

She stood and walked to Keith’s side. Poking a jagged fingernail into his chest, he looked down at her, “You voted me as leader Day Two, remember that, Kogane. We follow my rules, and we live. This is not the time for romance.”

“Pidge,” Lance tried to speak, but Pidge silenced him with the flick of her wrist.

Keith raised his chin, defiantly. “The zombie was still moving when I pulled the arrow out. How would Lance have dealt with that?”

“He can handle himself,” Pidge snapped back, grabbing the front of Keith’s shirt. She pulled him down so that she could whisper harshly in his ear, “Don’t make me threaten to leave you behind, Keith. Not when we’re so close to Allura and Coran.”

She let him go, and he straightened slowly. He avoided her gaze, “You’re right. Sorry.” The words tasted like ash on his tongue -- nothing like victory. Pidge nodded, accepting his apology. Walking back to Lance’s makeshift bed, she pointed toward the window.

“Lance, you take next watch. Obviously the lack of sleep is getting to Keith.” Her tone was a fine tuned growl.

Keith walked to Lance’s side, offering him the stained towel and a tentative smile. Lance accepted it, but didn’t meet Keith’s eyes as he ran the rag down the shaft of the arrow. His voice was a strained whisper, “I can take care of myself, Keith.”

“I know you can,” Keith answered, watching the way the planes of Lance’s face shifted with the moonlight through the warped windows. He had a permanent 5 o’clock shadow, and Keith wondered what day it was since Day One: the day sanity left the world. He pondered how Lance, the boy who slept with an eye mask and headphones, coped with this.

His heart constricted looking at the bags under Lance’s eyes. It was obvious he wasn’t coping.

He knew that Lance could adjust to war and to killing. He had witnessed it in the Castle of Lions, how he had lost his innocence once they met the Blade of Marmora and they realized they had been killing all Galra indiscriminately. That night, Keith could hear Lance’s muffled sobs through their shared wall. The next few days he was quieter, more subdued. But soon enough he came back to his joyous, flirtatious, jokester self -- much to Keith’s relief.

So he coped with killing and with war, but this run for survival without hope of sanctuary seemed to weigh on him more heavily than any other world Keith had seen.

With a gentle hand, Keith brushed several strands of Lance’s longer hair behind his ear.

“Is it bad that I want to protect you?”

Lance jumped at the gentle caress of Keith’s fingertips and his tentative question. There was a quick moment, a fraction of a heartbeat that Lance leaned into Keith’s touch.

“Yes,” Lance’s voice was a harsh whisper. He pulled away from Keith’s lingering fingers, turning away from the window to fully face him. “It’s not just bad but dangerous. So, please,” Lance’s voice constricted, eyes darting to the window and away from the openness Keith couldn’t hide, “ _stop_.”

The blue paladin turned to the window, cleaned arrow notched in his bow. His arms were relaxed, bow hanging by his side.

Keith nodded and went back to his threadbare blanket and backpack-fashioned pillow. He closed his eyes and attempted to sleep despite the thoughts that waged war in the confines of his mind. Crowbar nestled close to his side, still smelling of overripe fruit and copper.

Instinctively, he reached for Jowangshin, longing for her steadying presence and warm comfort, but there was only emptiness. And surrounded by his friends, he had never felt more alone.

  


**~~~~**

  


Pidge’s voice woke him from slumber again, “Get up, assholes!” She kicked at Keith’s foot, and he sat up frantically grappling for his weapon. He relaxed when he saw Pidge standing before him, arms planted firmly on her hips.

Hunk was still poised by the window, vigilant. His ax hung low in his grasp, and Keith could almost remember the night of Day Three. Hunk had protected Lance with that ax, swinging it to decapitate a young pregnant woman with dead eyes and peeling skin. He’d almost lost it right there in the middle of the street, horror painting his eyes and coiling his stomach, but Keith had grabbed him by the collar and shouted at him to keep his shit together.

But that night while Keith kept watch, Hunk cried into his blanket while pretending to be asleep. And Keith pretended he hadn’t heard anything.

Keith rose to his feet and stretched out his back. Pidge directed them all over to a small crate she had flipped over to create a small table. A crumpled and water-stained map was spread out with pen markings and circles that Keith couldn’t begin to decode. She pointed to a small red star. It was near a lake and far away from any of the black circles or cities.

“The last I talked to Coran, him and Allura were maintaining this prison. Supposedly its structure is one of the best they’ve seen, and they’re relatively assured of its safety.” Pidge strained and looked at each of them, “As you all know, this is our destination. However, this is where we are.” She pointed to a small red ‘V’ on the map.

There had to be at least 300 miles between the two points. And one of the large black circles around a city intersected their path. A large ‘X’ ran through it.

She tapped the city twice, smiling wickedly, “Atlanta stands between us.”

“Fuck,” Shiro whistled, running a hand through his hair. Neither Keith or Lance said anything. Keith was too absorbed in the feeling of familiarity, the sensation that Atlanta, Georgia was the most significant city in all of the United States.

He remembered the news stations from Day One. The screams and fires and the sounds of rapid gun shots as a news reporter stood with her microphone trembling. Her voice was as steady as it could be while she reported on the newest drug outbreak and its horrifying side effects. She stood there shaking and talking with her colleagues at the station, until a zombie pounced on her and sunk its stained teeth into the meat of her shoulder.

The camera man dropped the camera and ran, leaving the woman, crying and screaming, to the mercy of the zombie.

Even through a cracked camera lense, the reporter’s death was visible and live. She clawed and scratched for purchase on the ground, for a weapon to fend off the monster. But there was no hope. The zombie mauled pieces of flesh, nuzzled its face into the exposed muscles of her neck. It tore at her hair and slammed her face into the asphalt. The whole country watched in rapt horror as the woman was eaten alive, pleading for help into the camera until her blood splattered the pavement and her eyes went dull.

A slight shove from Shiro’s shoulder brought him out of the memories that splattered and dripped like rotting blood from his crowbar.

Pidge crossed her arms and propped her foot up on the crate, “I know how everyone feels about Atlanta. And I’m not suicidal, so we aren’t going to cut through it unless we miraculously find a working tank.”

“That would be awesome,” Hunk whispered from his spot at the window. Lance chuckled and fist bumped Hunk’s already stretched out hand.

Pidge rolled her eyes and pulled a pen out of her pant’s pocket. She traced a thin road that rounded the city. “It’s an old highway.”

“You want to go on a highway?” Shiro’s voice was accusatory and skeptical. Pidge’s head snapped up.

“And what else would you suggest?”

Shiro pointed to a small path just outside of the highway, “We take the access road instead. The highway will just be a parking lot of cars which could hold an unknown number of _them_.” Keith could hear Shiro’s tentative vocalisation of the word “them.” He looked again at the large scar across Shiro’s right arm, wondering why he knew exactly how he got it.

“But the access road has forest almost entirely around it.” Pidge tapped her pen on her chin, “It would be the perfect place for a scavenger ambush.”

Scavengers. Human groups that hadn’t found a way to fend for themselves except looting those who were trying so hard to survive. There were even some groups that resorted to cannibalism to feed their people.

“What’re everyone’s thoughts on this?” Pidge stood straighter and pinned Lance with her gaze, “I’m not going to make a decision this important without considering your opinions.” She nodded to Lance.

“I would prefer the access road.” Lance traced a finger down it on the road as if imaging traveling it in his mind, “It would be easier to navigate. I don’t think we could win a fight against a horde in the mess the highway probably is.”

“But if scavengers find us, there’s no way that we’d survive the scale of their ambush. We’d have a better chance with a horde on the highway.” Hunk theorized, gaze still tethered to the treeline and the body rotting in the sun.

Pidge turned her gaze to Keith. He realized that he was the tie breaker. There was a weight to his heart. He knew that if he made the wrong decision, not only would Lance die but the rest of the team too. Killed by scavenges, eaten, and beaten. Or a horde of hungry zombies with tearing and thrashing teeth.

“Wouldn’t the highway in the direction toward the city be empty of cars?”

“Doubtful,” Pidge commented, her jaw tightening and eyes darkening, “Days One and Two were so crazy that learning people actually obeyed traffic laws to exit the city would surprise me.”

Keith nodded, running a hand through his hair. The small bun he had at the back of his head was loose, so he retied it while thinking. “I vote for the access road then.”

Pidge nodded, folding up the map, “Then the access road it is. Now, go take baths in the river before we leave. You all reek.”

They chuckled and Keith relished in the sound of Lance’s laugh. In truth, it was only a fraction of his Lance’s laugh, all boisterous and head tossed back in exhilaration. But it was vibrant in the damp shack and bleak world. His smile lines that had been so obvious in every other dimension were diminished.

Keith followed Lance and Shiro to the river while Hunk kept watch over the shack and Pidge planned out every detail of their journey.

Shiro stood by the corner of the shed, hammer resting heavy in his hand. Without looking over his shoulder, he spoke, “You guys go first. I’ll keep watch.”

Keith’s face heated at the thought, and he quickly stripped down without sparing a glance at Lance. His heartbeat was rapid as he stepped into the frigid river. He heard Lance curse, and his gaze quickly jumped to the blue paladin.

Lance had waded hip-deep in the river, arms wrapped tightly around his chest as the bubbling water obscured anything below the waist. His tanned skin was radiant as the sun reflected off the river. The defined muscles in his back contracted with the cold, sculpting his form and making Keith’s blood rush in his ears.

Goddess, he was breathtaking.

With another curse, Lance dunked the rest of his body beneath the water, and a relieved exhale burst from Keith’s lips. But just as he relaxed, Lance emerged from the river with a sigh and flicked water out of his face. Keith couldn’t stop the trail of his eyes as he stood, transfixed by the droplets of water trailing over that warm skin, dipping in the crevices of carved muscle and over soft curves.

“Jowangshin, help me,” Keith mumbled, finally managing to tear his gaze away from Lance. He dunked his head to fight the blood rushing to his cheeks and the shake of his fingers. Scrubbing at his face and hair with blunt fingernails, he relished in the new cleanliness of his skin.

“Keith,” Lance’s voice was a whisper that ignited his cheeks with blush, and Keith turned so quickly to face the blue paladin that his foot slipped on a mossy river rock.

Lance caught him with a steady hand on his arm, lithe fingers almost scalding his skin. “Woah, there,” Lance breathed, and Keith’s hands felt every vibration of his words, pressed firmly to Lance’s chest. In his fingertips, he could feel the frantic beat of Lance’s heart. The familiar heat of his skin. The gentle brush of his thigh against Lance’s. The tantalizing heat of his touch.

Keith met Lance’s gaze, watching the tips of his tanned ears turn pink and a small smile twist his features. But there was a frantic, nervous energy that replaced that smile. After making sure Keith was steady, Lance took a large step back, and Keith’s hands splashed into the river, cold and empty.

And he hadn’t realized how his hollow chest ached, ribs cracking and marrow heavy with cement. How he’s longed for touch and acceptance and comfort so different from the motherly love of Jowangshin.

“Soap,” Lance fumbled with the bar in his hand, sticking it out to Keith. “You need soap. That’s why I, uh, yeah. So here.” Lance’s cheeks were flushed, and Keith could only assume how pink his cheeks were. He took the soap and turned away from Lance.

Hearing Lance’s frantic steps out of the river, he squeezed the thin bar of soap in his hands and fought the urge to turn and see what all of Lance looked like with no river to blur the long expanse of his legs. His entire face burned with the thought, and he dunked his head in the water again before rubbing the soap on his body and scrubbing it into his hair.

Shiro was undressing when Keith exited the river, folding his shirt and placing it on top of his hammers. He forced himself not to look at the toned chest of his closest friend as he handed him the soap, cheeks still tinted pink.

With a nod, Shiro took the soap and strode towards the river as Keith struggled to dress again, clothes sticking to his damp skin. He almost debating using his oversized t-shirt to dry his hair, but he didn’t want to have pack or wear it while it was damp. So he wrung out his long hair before twisting it back up in a bun to prevent it from slicking a wet stain on his back.

Lance stood guard at the edge of the shack, fully dressed in his worn, white shirt and cargo pants. His slightly longer hair curled at his neck and dripped onto his threadbare shirt, turning it translucent as it stuck to his skin.

Keith nodded to Lance before walking inside the shack.

He collapsed on his makeshift bed. Pidge gave him a look, one eyebrow raised and narrowed gaze, as she stared up from the map. Keith didn’t move his face from his book bag as he whined, “I’m just so fucking gay, Pidge.”

She cackled at that, and he smiled.

  


**~~~~**

  


They left before noon, the sun cresting in the sky, trying to travel by daylight as much as possible. Pidge plowed forward with Hunk immediately at her side, ax hanging low in his arms or slung over one shoulder. Shiro was walking directly behind her, looking over her short stature as all of his hammers swung lightly from their holsters at his hips. His hand hovered just above the metal heads, ready for anything.

Keith was behind Shiro, walking next to Lance. He held his bow relaxed in his fingers, arrow notched and ready to fire. A small quiver with only about ten arrows slapped against his back with each confident step. Keith watched him out of the corner of his eye, crowbar heavy in his hand but his arm never tired.

Pidge would occasionally pull out the map and glance at the areas around them.

“Hey Lance,” Keith whispered underneath the gentle breeze that shook the fragile tree leaves.

Lance shushed him, eyes darting around them, “You'll draw them to us if you speak.”

“If they’re close enough to hear me whisper and we didn't notice them already, we deserve to be dead,” Keith hissed, the bitter taste of death heavy on his tongue like floating ashes. Lance’s eye twitched, and his grip tightened on his bow.

There was a darkness to Lance’s eyes that Keith had never seen before. It curled around the gentle shape of his lips and settled into the cut of his jaw. It was so different from the war-hardened expression of the last Lance, jaw firm and eyes constantly skeptical. So different from the carefree persona that his Lance embodied, despite the aching responsibility of war that settled on his shoulders like Atlas. But this was a sort of hopelessness — like smoke from a dying flame.

With a shuddering realization, Keith noticed that none of Lance’s family was with them, and Lance hadn't mentioned them once.

“If you don't shut up, I'll shoot you in the foot and leave you for them,” Lance’s voice was barely above a growl, drawing Keith out of his thoughts.

Keith clenched his jaw, nodding stiffly as Lance’s gaze left him to scan their surroundings. Clenching his fingers around the worn handle of the crow bar, Keith looked to the forests beside them as they traveled along the river, eyes fighting to gaze at Lance. But he kept his mouth shut and focused on keeping everyone safe.

  


**~~~~**

  


The sun was beginning to set, coloring the clouds in a way that Keith never knew that he missed. It was serene, almost peaceful in this tense, fucked-up world.

Keith missed the way that the sun would set over the desert, coloring the grasses and making the large mountains into silhouettes in its elegance.

Pidge stopped them at an expansive, grassy area by the river bed. “We’ll stop here for tonight.” Folding the map and tucking it into her pocket, she placed her hands on her hips and waited for the others to follow her unspoken orders.

There were no additional words needed as Hunk swung his axe several times to clear some of the tall grasses. Lance kept watch, and Shiro shucked off his shoes and stepped into the river, hammer poised and ready.

“Keith,” Pidge asked, voice harsh, “a fire would be nice before darkness makes us vulnerable.”

Keith nodded and walked toward the forest. He tightened his grip on his crowbar as anxiety thrummed in his blood. Pausing to listen for any sounds, he exhaled before stepping past the treeline. Slowly the trees encased him, almost blocking out all light from the fading sun, creating a deep shade of night within the trees. The smell of rot made him shiver, but it was a different type of rot than what splattered against the grass last night. It was the kind that accompanied the scent before rain or the smell of fresh cut grass. It was natural, and something Keith never thought he would miss in the desert or the expanse of space.

Twigs snapped under his feet before he could pick them up, and each sharp noise made adrenaline thunder through his blood as he waited for a distant moan or the sound of plodding footsteps. But nothing happened, and the forest remained quiet as he piled small branches and some of the fallen leaves for kindling to start the fire. The leaves crackled and disintegrated in his fierce grip.

With an armful, he wandered back to the campsite where Pidge had dug a small hole to place the fire. Hunk had trimmed away all tall grass and was now using a small knife to skin the fish Shiro had tossed into the tall grasses -- their bodies broken by the swift swing of a hammer.

Lance still stood sentry, calloused fingers poised on the taut bowstring.

Kneeling by a small, earthen hole, Keith ‘s hands moved without conscious thought, arranging the kindling in the most efficient way to start a fire. It was more than a tingle of familiarity. He could almost feel sparks dancing along his fingernails.

He stood up and brushed off the mud clumped on his knees. Without another word, he wandered back toward the forest to search for larger logs. Although they were more difficult to find, he managed to gather several, hidden under piles of rotting leaves or scattered with the remnants of a fallen tree.

He placed the dampened wood by the fire pit. Rubbing his palms together and closing his eyes, he called for Jowangshin, hungry for the warmth and bubbling flames tickling his ribs. He snapped his fingers, waiting for a delicate flame to dance from his fingertips, waiting for the soft whisper of a goddess, waiting for the power that sung under his skin.

There was nothing.

“Are you praying to the fire?” Pidge’s voice was a twinge of harsh laughter.

Keith glanced up to meet blue eyes as Lance looked over his shoulder. There was mirth in his gaze as he saw Keith kneeling before the fire pit, head bowed and hands almost clasped before him. Lance’s laughter was a snort of a thing, suppressed and unbidden. Keith watched mirth dance in Lance’s eyes and couldn't help the small smile that crawled up his face.

A smile that quickly disappeared when Hunk whispered, “Dear Goddess of Fire, please let me and all of MCR burn.” His voice was pitched higher as if to imitate Keith.

“Hunk,” Shiro’s voice was reprimanding, but the big guy didn't even flinch at the tone, too accustomed to it, “You know well enough that Keith didn't actually listen to MCR. But you could totally burn his copies of Twilight.”

“Shiro! You know I never actually read those!” Keith snapped, blush commandeering his features. “My Aunt just got them for me for Christmas because my dad said that I liked to read!”

Hunk chuckled, “Oh my god, you totally read twilight.” Lance’s shoulders shook, and he couldn't keep his focus on the treeline. Pidge’s smile was the largest Keith had seen in any dimension.

“I didn’t read it!” Keith hissed.

“You know, it was really popular,” Pidge began, smile turning mischievous, “We wouldn't blame you for reading it.”

Lance shrugged, bow relaxing his his grip, “As long as you don't claim that it's a paragon of romance. Edwin and Bella’s relationship is sooooo unhealthy.”

“Edward,” Keith huffed crossing his arms.

“What?” Lance said, and Keith could feel the deepening of Pidge’s smile behind him. Keith’s blush deepened, traveling along his neck and up his ears.

“Nothing.”

Lance leaned forward, placing one hand to his ear. “No, sorry. I really didn't hear you. Did you just say that it was actually _Edward_ and Bella?”

Keith didn't meet Lance’s eyes or his triumphant smile, looking directly at Shiro who had waded out of the river, feet sinking into the riverbed and a singular fish flopping in his grip. Pidge cackled as quietly as she could and Hunk couldn't help but join in.

And he didn’t mind being the punchline of a joke if he could such unusual warmth and humor grace his friends features.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this the lighthearted fluff and mutual pining that I've been promising?? haha Yes, I have delivered, dear readers!! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> ((to be transparent, I remember starting this arc and complaining about not being able to kill them off soon enough. . .but in retrospect, I feel like this cute fluffy (well it's not entirely fluff is it?) break is definitely needed for some recovery time!! So I hope you enjoyed this little reprieve haha))
> 
> And I'm so sorry for all of the angst I gave you guys when asking if the other Keith came back!! I was just curious as to what your thoughts were haha Even though it's never directly addressed in the fic so far, I believe that every Keith comes back after our Keith leaves -- so when their Keith would come back, he would have the same level of attachment with Jowangshin (so he wouldn't be Enthralled/insane like Keith was in chapter 26!!). Our Keith comes in to save the day and kick butt and then he leaves the world almost as it was haha
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! You can also catch me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who leaves such wonderful, sweet comments, because I honesty live for them! Thank you for letting me know your thoughts and that you're continuing to read my fic (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡
> 
> EDIT: Huge shout out to my artist from the voltron supernova big bang, Ren who did the wonderful wonderful, SO SERIOUSLY BREATHTAKING art for this chapter!! You can check them out [here](http://tamakiamajlkl.tumblr.com)!!


	29. Intermission: Replacement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheers!
> 
> ALSO In case you didn't see it! My amazing artist for the Voltron Supernova Big Bang gave me a beautiful piece from last chapter! So you should check it out or check them out [here](http://tamakiamajlkl.tumblr.com)!!

Two more days had passed, and Keith’s condition hadn’t changed. No mysterious deaths. No blood or ash. Only an increased heart rate and blood pressure and a firm scowl now planted on his features.

Coran had shrugged and said, “Just like he’s going through a nightmare, my boy. Nothing more. No I remember when --” and he divulged into a story, twirling his mustache and speaking with enthusiasm and excitement in order to drag their thoughts away from Keith, poised and scowling behind a pane of glass.

****

**~~~~**

  


Allura was adamant about helping the Galra surrendered outposts, even if they didn’t have Voltron. They were all afraid that in their absence, a leader of the Galra could rise up and begin claiming forfeited territory.

The Blade of Mamora was a huge asset, not only assisting Hunk and Lance on their liberation of Puig but finding new targets and providing information on Galra leaders.

But there was an increasing demand for Voltron among those in the alliance Allura was forming -- the Voltron Coalition. A demand they couldn’t keep avoiding.

They sat as a group in the living room on the comfortable circular couch. Allura sat at the head, hands folded in her lap and shoulders stiff. “It may be difficult for us all to accept,” Allura began, looking over each of the paladins and resignation ringing in her voice, “but it is time to think about finding a new pilot for the red lion.”

“What?” Lance snapped, jumping to his feet and guilt sinking heavy in his gut. “Keith’s just in a healing pod. And it hasn’t even been a month. You’re not really considering this, are you?” He glanced around the couch, finding Pidge fiddling with the sole of her boot and Hunk scratching the back of his head. Shiro looked deep in thought, one hand placed to his chin.

“Due to his varying --” and Coran stumbled around the word, “-- condition, we don’t actually know when Keith will reemerge from the pod.” Coran’s tone was solemn and factual, nothing similar to the lightheartedness he normally embodied. “Nor can we predict when since we aren’t sure what’s exactly wrong with him.”

Pidge flinched at that comment, head dipping to her chin as her bangs obscured her face.

There was a tense silence in the room.

“Keith wouldn’t want us to wait for him, not while the universe still needs us,” Shiro commented, voice steady and assertive, spoken through clenched teeth. He sat stiffly with hands clenched on his thighs; the perfect picture of dedication, the team leader that he had always been.

“How are you so calm about all this?” Lance growled, feeling the anger sing in his blood and irritation siphon his breathing.

Lance was the one that had carried Keith through the castle, bloody and broken and praying in Spanish with a stupid small smile on his face. He was the one that Keith had saved. He should be in that cryopod, not Keith. Not the hothead that sometimes smiled at his jokes and hid his laughter behind eyerolls. Not the impulsive star pilot that rescued Blue or fought Zarkon just to save Black and Shiro or was always first to run into battle to protect his friends. Not the boy that Lance had admired and aspired to be.

Not Keith.

Lance’s eyes looked over Shiro, the calmness to his brow and the steadiness of his shoulders. “You’re his best friend. How could you say that?”

“Since I’m his best friend,” Shiro stood, tall and imposing and all the leader he was meant to be, “I know what he’d want.” His voice was flat, like he had forced all emotion out of him, except for the spark of painful fire in his eyes. He strode towards the doors, “I’m going to take a walk.”

Silence filled the room with an undercurrent of tension that resonated like a heartbeat. Lance steadied his breathing as he felt the watchful eyes of his teammates follow Shiro’s retreat only to settle on him.

“Shiro’s been taking this really hard, Lance, so you can’t --”

“Can’t what? Blame him?” Lance snarled, turning to face Allura. “How do you think I’ve been taking it since I’m the one that should be in that cryopod instead!” Lance stormed out of the room, ignoring Hunk’s call to stop him.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is dealing with this situation in their own way, and none of it well. . .
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter!!
> 
> You can also come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!


	30. Surreal Monotony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿
> 
> ** **spoiler alert but a warning for this chapter** **  
> this chapter will contain a lot of explicit gore and violence, even more so than other parts of the fic, so please be careful and take care of yourself <3
> 
> If you want to skip a majority of the gore, I would stop reading after "Hunk was the first to fall" until the end of the fic, about 500 words. In the end notes I will put a little summary

Keith had volunteered for first watch, too anxious to sleep, fingers tapping an indiscernible pattern on his crowbar. He had never lived longer than a single day since this whole _thing_ started. The thought of waking up and seeing something different made his fingers tingle and feet dig anxiously against the ground.

He felt like he could stay up all night, watch the sunrise over the tips of the trees, casting the meadow in a twilight shadow.

And when the light of dawn crested the horizon, coloring the leafs in cotton candy hues, Keith’s heart swelled as relief relaxed all of his muscles and made him yawn.

He kicked Pidge’s foot. “It’s dawn,” he whispered, almost giddy with the statement.

She jumped up, bat prepped in her hand and ready to attack. She looked to him, eyes blowing wide at the light from the sun. “You did not keep watch all night.”

Keith shrugged one shoulder. “I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

Pidge grabbed the front of his shirt with trembling fingers and jagged nails that threatened to tear the threadbare fabric. “You know that’s not the way things work, Keith. If you’re too tired to walk or keep watch or defend yourself, we _will_ leave you behind.”

Their hushed argument woke the others, much less prepared for battle than Pidge had been.

Keith nodded, eyes fixating on the rising sun and the fading scent of dew. He felt like he could never get used to waking up to see another day pass, something he hadn’t seen in months. It was something so surreal that he never realized he could miss.

  


**~~~~**

  


He was wrong.

The monotony of travel was so exhausting that the sunlight lost a little glory every day.

There was the added stress that forced Keith to keep an almost constant watch for Lance. Memorized his silent footsteps on damp grass, the way he held his bow, always poised and ready. There was that same attention in the tips of his fingers that every iteration of Lance had. And honestly Keith never got tired of watching him, even in this constant state of anxiety and dread that settled like burning embers in his stomach.

  


**~~~~**

  


“We’re about fifteen miles from the center Atlanta,” Pidge told them that night over a half dinner of rations. There weren’t any fish in the river, too polluted from the city and gore. They sat around a small fire, looking over its dusky waters that separated them the city. There were several bridges that crossed the river, piled with cars and broken portions, dumping the rusting vehicles into the water. The trees were barren around them and groaned and snapped with the soft wind.

The crowbar had indented his hand like it had grown apart of him. He felt panicked without its comfortable weight in his palm and that night, he slept with it curled against him. Or tried to sleep at least.

He felt the surge of panic in his blood, the pandemonium of worry and an imagination that had too much reality to draw inspiration from.

Lance hadn’t been first watch. It had been Shiro, sitting by the ashes of the fire -- which Lance pretended to pray too before he lit it as a means of lightening the tension in the group -- eyes trained across the river and the forest at their backs.

They hadn’t wanted to stop here, but there was no way they could pass by the entirety of Atlanta without sleep and in the dead of night. So they camped and waited. Breath held tight in their chests and weapons gripped like teddy bears.

Keith wasn’t sure how he had managed to fall asleep with his fingers clenched so tightly around the crowbar, but he had.

And it was a softly hummed melody that woke him. It was like the edges of a dream, engulfed by the sound of the river, lost like wisps of smoke in the air. Lance was on watch, crotched with his bow relaxed at his side. An arrow was notched between his fingers, and his eyes seemed to see everything at once.

Keith watched him from under hooded lashes, and almost drifted back off to sleep listening to Lance’s humming.

“I know you’re awake, Keith,” Lance whispered. “You don’t have to pretend to be asleep.”

Keith stiffened, before sighing and sitting up straight. He stretched out his back, looking up at Lance’s crouched position. The blue paladin smiled broadly, before his eyes darted back to the river and the opposing treeline, towards Atlanta.

Keith shifted so that his side was pressed up against Lance’s. In this position, he could watch the forest around them while Lance could focus solely on the river. Lance stiffened at his touch, skin warm through the thinned fabric. It took a minute before Lance relaxed, the tension leaving his shoulders as he pressed a little more firmly against Keith’s body.

They kept watch like that for a couple minutes. Silence stretching overtop the bubbling of the river and the full cream of trees in the wind.

“Have you seen any of them?”

“A couple,” he whispered, and Keith could feel the shiver that coursed through Lance, “They’re mostly blurry shadows on the other bank of the river. So not too much cause for worry, unless they form a horde. But I haven’t seen more than two together.”

Keith nodded, fighting the urge to place his head on Lance’s shoulder and forget the dangers around them.

“What song were you singing?”

“A Spanish lullaby,” Lance mumbled, head tipping back and looking at the stars. “My mom used to sing it to me when I couldn’t sleep.”

Keith smiled and tipped his head back too, watching the stars where they had battled great evils and won against great odds. “Aruru mi niño,” Keith whispered, remembering how Lance had giggled when Keith first asked him to sing it in their window in the Castle of Lions. Remembered the way Keith had hummed it that night, wrapped delicately in Lance’s blankets.

Lance turned to face Keith, head still tipped back. “How did you know?” His breath was a hot flush against Keith’s cheeks.

Keith cringed, because how did he tell Lance about their days in space and the times he had lost?

Stumbling through an explanation, Keith turned to face Lance, but all thoughts vanished the moment he met those ocean eyes. They were wide with shock. At the closeness of Keith.

He could feel the soft touch of Lance’s breath across his lips. Their noses brushed, shoulders pressed tightly against each other, the warmth of skin like caressing flames. Keith’s eyes darted to his lips, and Lance licked them as if he was self conscious. But he didn’t try to move away.

Keith didn’t try to move either. He didn’t want to.

He had never thought about kissing Lance, never thought about the way Lance’s lips might feel against his own, against his heated skin. Or the way those lithe fingers could tangle in his hair and pull at the hems of his clothes. Never thought that he could want something like this, never thought he could want Lance like this.

It was like everything fell into place: the aching jealousy at seeing Lance with Nyma or Allura, the longing to be close to him in those long days of the castle, the way emptiness evanscened in his bright presence. All of those hopes and emotions he’d pinned on Lance, on Lance’s safety.

It made absolute sense, because maybe this wasn’t a platonic intertwining of destinies. Maybe Keith could have something more.

Keith’s eyes settled on his lips for a second too long, mind running with a million thoughts -- Would he taste like a briny sea breeze or the vanilla of his sheets? Would Lance push him away if he leaned forward and closed the distance between them? If this Lance liked him, what did that imply about his Lance?

Shaking his head, his gaze darted up to Lance’s. And he saw the ocean, the white capped waves and smoky depths. Lance blinked slowly, looking at Keith from under sooty lashes.

“Keith,” Lance whispered, “I --”

A twig snapped, and Keith was shocked back to reality as adrenaline tingled at the back of his neck and trembled in his fingertips. He pulled back from Lance, already missing the warmth of his skin as he tightened his grip on his crowbar and scanned the forest.

Lance stiffened next to him, eyes snapping to the treeline and bowstring taut in against his fingertips. The tension between them lost as they searched the forest.

There was only the soft bubble of the river and their whispered exhales, hearts pounding furiously in their chests and stomachs nauseous with dread.

“Do you think --”

But Lance was cut off by a groan, deep and crawling.

The blue paladin jumped to his feet, scrambling for his bow. Keith ripped his crowbar out of the moist earth, feeling dirt push beneath his fingernails. Over the shallowness of his breaths and the rush of blood in his ears, he could hear twigs snapping and thuds of dampened footsteps on the forest floor.

Lance aimed his bow and arrow to their right, pausing for a trembling second as they searched for the source of the sound. Keith followed his gaze and saw a black, shadowy haze on the horizon.

Lance’s whisper was like ice across his heated skin, “A horde.”

“Horde,” Keith hissed, kicking at Pidge’s feet and putting on his bookbag. The word was like a siren, slicing through the night air and in a second everyone was prepped with weapons heavy in their hands.

Pidge seemed like she wanted to growl about how a horde had gotten this close, how Lance hadn’t noticed. Keith felt bile roll in his stomach, leaking into his abdomen and devouring him. She wrung her hands around the baseball bat.

“Is there anyway we can cross the river, Shiro?” She asked, taking careful steps backward, avoiding twigs and anything else that would draw the zombie’s attention.

“It’s too rough,” he growled, gripping a hammer in each hand.

Pidge hissed, “Then our best option is to get to a bridge.”

“We would never outlast them,” Hunk whispered, constantly casting his gaze over his shoulder like he expected the zombies to reach decaying hands out of the earth and scratch at their ankles.

“Well we can’t outrun them now,” Pidge snapped, eyes darting to Lance, forcing the blame on his slender shoulders.

Keith strode beside the river, avoiding twigs and bushes that pulled at his clothes and scratched at his skin. The crowbar was a comfortable weight in his hand. He looked over his shoulder to notice that Lance was at the back of the party, the only long range weapon to keep the zombies off their trail.

His blood fragmented into ice as the first zombie stepped onto the riverbed. It snapped its head to the side as if examining the group, examining its dinner. With an unhinged jaw, it screamed like shredding vocal cords and dying animals.

“Run!” Pidge screamed, not bothering to be quiet anymore as she sprinted past Keith to a broken bridge not too far from their campsite. The road had sheared off, allowing for a pile of cars to form a ladder halfway to top of the bridge. Their only form of shelter -- until the zombies learned to climb, one by one.

Keith stood frozen, waiting for Lance to pass him so that he could protect him, because that was his one goddamn job in the universe. And he had already failed enough today.

Lance shot a blue feathered arrow into the throat of the zombie, stopping its cry with a gurgle before it fell into the racing river. The blue paladin raced by him, quiver slapping at his back, and Keith followed in his footsteps.

But Lance had been too late to silence the zombie; they poured out of the forest and raced along the bank like starving, carnivorous animals. Crying and cheering and moaning and only drawing more to their chase.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Pidge growled, beheading a zombie that crashed out of the woods. The baseball bat shattered its rotting skull like styrofoam, splattering soggy remains across the trees.

Hunk had reached the base of one of the cars, half embedded into the river bed. Kicking in the window, he stepped up on the back windshield before grabbing onto the back of a pickup truck that crumbled against the roof of the bottom car. Scrambling up a couple of the cars, he looked down at the group calling out to them, “Over here!”

Shiro ran up to Pidge’s side, knocking a zombie across the temple with the arc of his hammer. Pidge pushed her back against his, jumping forward to take out another that lunged for her.

Keith faced the majority of the horde, Lance standing just behind him, aiming over his shoulder.

“Lance, get to safety!” Keith cried out, slicing through the thick neck of a zombie. The head splashed in the river, sending splatters of bloody water against his pants.

An arrow whistled past his ear, lodging directly in a zombie’s eye, hands still outstretched and jaw hinged on one side. It stumbled, falling and becoming fodder for others to walk on.

“Like hell I’d leave you,” Lance growled, shooting off another arrow.

Keith could feel the zombies closing in, could smell their bloodlust and see the way their yellowed eyes tracked them. With a scream, he jumped forward, slashing and tearing at the walking corpses. They put up no resistance. Their flesh melted away like hot wax at the touch of his crowbar.

He wasn’t sure if this world’s Keith was as proficient of a fighter -- and maybe that’s why they needed _him_.

There was a cockiness to his actions as power thrummed in his veins -- like Jowangshin was still whispering in his ear as he destroyed the entire Galra army with the flick of his wrist. Victory was addicting. Swinging his arm in a larger arc, he couldn’t fight the manic laugh that bubbled from his throat as he began to take bigger risks. He could practically take on the entire horde himself.

This is why he was here -- to slaughter these fucking zombies, not to watch Lance die.

Jumping backward, he avoided the mess of rotting blood that the damp ground absorbed, making the grass and riverbed slick. With the slice of his crowbar, he avoided the dead limbs with still hungry clawing fingers. Blood singing with the taste of victory, he avoided the fate destiny had try to lay out for him.

He would be victorious.

“Keith!” Pidge screamed, and Keith spared a moment to see Pidge and Shiro climbing the cars, Lance paces in front of them, bow poised. “Come on!”

A moan snapped at his ear before Keith threw himself back in the battle, slicing off the zombie’s head. Like a thunderous bolt of frost, fear settled back into the linings of his lungs. Because never before had Keith been victorious without sacrifice.

Slowly taking steps backwards, Keith carefully marched over the slick ground. If he slipped, he was dead. Eaten.

The mud sucked at his boots as the river splashed at the edges of his pants, forcing him to stumble. A growl drew his attention to his left, just barely batting away the hungry, mawing mouth of a zombie before it tore at his flesh. But pain seared along his neck from clawing fingernails and the scrape of teeth from a decaying lips he hadn’t seen soon enough.

“Keith!” Lance screamed, an arrow clipping his ear before embedding in the neck of another approaching zombie.

“Lance, no!” Pidge shrieked as Lance took off, running down the muddy riverbank. He shot off arrow after arrow, allowing Keith the chance to recover. His ear stung, pulling his attention to the blood that dripped onto his shirt.

He wished Lance wasn’t marching into the battle like an avenging angel. He was bitten -- he was as good as dead in this wasteland.

Clamping a trembling hand over the wound, Keith ground his teeth as another blue-feathered arrow grazed his cheek. Fuck destiny. Damn all of these twining fates that decitated that he was going to fail, that Lance so desperately needed protection. He would succeed, and he would do it today, even if he was already a doomed.

The zombies sniffed the air, smelling his spilled blood, and came at him with a new frenzy.

But Lance was beside him, a warmth in this sea of cold rotting corpses. And Keith couldn’t fight the small burst of thankfulness in his heart. Pressing his steadying back against Keith’s, Lance slung his bow over his shoulder, more cumbersome in close combat. He pulled a small hatchet from his waist, slicing off the jaw of a zombie as it lunged at him.

“I got you, buddy,” Lance shouted, taking out a zombie that lunged for Keith.

Keith slipped on the mud, taking out a zombie and losing his balance. “Lance, please go back!” Keith cried, pressing his back up against Lance’s as the horde surrounded them.

“Wouldn’t leave you even if I could,” Lance grunted as the hatchet stuck in the vertebrae of a zombie. It gurgled and scratched at Lance’s arm, raking tendrils of fire down his forearm. He screamed, and Keith turned sharply, crushing in the zombie’s skull. Its yellow eyes dulled. Lance kicked it in the stomach, thrusting it back against the horde and yanking his hatchet out.

A battle cry drew their attention as limbs started flying. Hunk stood at the edge of the horde, swinging his great battle ax through all that stood in his way to Lance and Keith. There was a dangerous set to his brows as he switched his grip and tore another zombie in half.

Lance laughed a little, “Show off.”

Keith smiled bright, hope surging in his chest. Hunk stepped forward, finally clearing a path between them. But more zombies followed the horde’s example, stragglers with damaged limbs and even more desperation in their ravenous movements.

One clawed through the sludge of the riverbed, organs trailing behind like shoe laces in the mud, dirty and ragged. With a clawing hand it latched onto Hunk. Another pounced on him from the front, jaw snapping around the handle of the ax. Hunk held either end of the handle and pushed against the zombie’s snapping jaws.

Keith lunged forward to decapitate the one dripping spittle and blood over Hunk’s shirt. The head swung uselessly around the handle before dropping to the ground. Keith smiled wide, before he saw Hunk’s eyes go wide with horror and pain.

A scream bellowed from his lungs, emptying Keith’s heart.

The zombie at Hunk’s feet raked its fingers along his calf and tore away his flesh with blunt teeth. He swung the ax down, severing its head. It dropped to the mud with bits of muscle and gristle in its teeth.

“Hunk!” Lance screeched, turning to the zombies that surrounded them, more appearing from the woods like apparitions of the apocalypse. “You fuckers!”

He stood in front of Hunk, guarding him as the zombies snapped their loose-hanging jaws, tendons and ligaments stretched from constant feasting.

They fought, while Pidge screamed from her perch on the cars. But they were soon overrun. The zombies clawed at the cars below Pidge and Shiro, losing fingers and hands but not their determination or hunger.

Hunk was the first to fall, a zombie clamping onto his arm as he swung the battle ax. One hand scratched over his face, gouging his eye and tearing at flesh. Partially blinded and drawing zombies likes moths to a flame, they overcame him, no matter how valiantly Lance defended him.

Keith sobbed a scream, slicing through another zombie with several hacking swings.

“Keith,” Lance called as zombies divided them. He swung the hatchet in an attempt to bring them back together, to make some part of this horde a remnant of safety, to once again fight back to back. “Keith!”

Keith met his eyes, only to see a zombie tear its teeth through Lance’s shoulder.

It smiled, eyes rolling back in ecstasy. Hands pulling Lance’s neck taught. Lance screamed, slashing at the zombie with his hatchet. The zombie lost an ear but never its insatiable hunger as it tore at flesh again.

“Lance!” Keith slashed forward, feeling whips of fire slash his back as jagged nails tore down his flesh. He pierced the crowbar deep into the open mouth of a zombie, cracking the first vertebrae.

Another hunk of Lance’s flesh hung from the zombie’s mouth, flapping against its jaw as it chewed with large, lazy bites. A different zombie mawled claws against Lance’s stomach and slurped at his tumbling intestines.

Lance’s eyes went glossy, hatchet falling from his fading grip.

“Lance!”

Jowangshin help him, he screamed, lungs emptying, “Lance!”

Lance’s legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground without ceremony, with only an empty moan and a splash of mud.

A searing bolt of lightning tore down his left arm as he pushed between zombies. Muscle torn from bone, ligaments snapping and skin flapping. And the pain, ricocheted up his body. Another bite of pain at his hip, his ankle, his back, his neck.

Pain was every molecule in his body, every molecule devoured with elaborate moans and cries.

He couldn’t stand. Flailing the crowbar with an imitation of the strength and confidence he displayed before, he collapsed to the ground. There were teeth and tearing fingers on every inch of his body, pulling apart the muscles and feasting on his organs. He reached aching fingers to Lance’s body beside his.

Their fingertips brushed, and he stayed alive too long too long too long as they feasted on his flesh and crunched on his bones with euphoria painted on their faces.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all were right, it was too good to be true. . . but hey, we almost got a kiss, so that's an upside right?? haha
> 
> This chapter has some of my favorite writing though -- I like was on an epic tangent when I was writing this, and I distinctly remember waking up the next day and screaming about why none of my writing was a good as the night before haha the struggle of a writer, amiright??
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please let me know if I need to put a more detailed warning in the beginning of this chapter. I have the small summary below this. Do you all think this is okay??
> 
> **Summary:** _Everyone died. . .very gruesomely because the horde overwhelmed them (⊙_⊙)_
> 
> Thank you all for being so amazing and encouraging (≧◡≦) ♡ Thank you all for leaving amazing comments, because I honestly reread them and cherish them!!
> 
> Also here's my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com) if you want to scream at me haha


	31. Intermission: The Coalition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

On day twenty-five since Zarkon’s death, Lance sat at the banquet table with a scowl and crossed arms, looking over the assembled Coalition leaders. His paladin armor was heavy on his chest, a weight and a burden. Shiro smiled next to him, hiding his clenched fists under the table.

The members kept asking about Voltron, and Allura tried her best to indirectly answer their questions while omitting the fact that no, they couldn’t form Voltron. No, one of the paladins was stuck in a cryopod until further notice, dying and disappearing at random times during the day -- although that had stopped recently.

But no, they couldn’t form Voltron, because Keith wasn’t here.

“Can they form Voltron now?” a leader asked, glancing between the gathered paladins and Allura.

Lance stood, pushing his chair away from the table. “Sorry, but I’m not feeling well,” he mumbled, but he didn’t even try to hide the growl of irritation in his voice as he stalked out of the room. Anger vibrated through his blood, and he felt it echo through the castle. Felt the heat of Red’s fury, the need to protect what was hers and the rage at her own helplessness.

Turning on his heel, Lance marched towards her hangar, wanting to relish in her outrage -- for it was much better than the depression that carved out his organs and left him so hollow.

As the doors slid open, Lance felt a rush of heated air, dry like the desert they’d explored before their world went to shit. No one else had tried to enter the red lion’s hangar since she woke, threatening to burn them with the residual heat of her fury. But that heat had dimmed to a humid sauna as Lance strode forward.

Red lowered her head, opening her mouth and inviting Lance to crawl into the pilot seat.

A low growl echoed in his mind, a pulse of red at the edges of his mind -- the color of blood that had slicked the floor beneath his running feet or stained Keith’s suit.

A trembling rage overcame his body as he leaned forward, grabbing hold of Red’s controls and screaming. His back hunched, shoulders curled and eyes squeezed closed as if this bellow of fury and guilt could wring him dry. But he just constricted himself tighter, hands trembling on the controls as he cursed out Keith and the emotions that threatened to suffocate him.

The scream died in a whimper, leaving the cockpit an eerie state of quiet that seemed to linger in the air.

With a sigh, he curled up, knees tucked to his chest and nose pressed against the back of the chair as if he could still smell the faintest hints of cinnamon and cloves. Guilt gnawed on his ribs and sunk claws into his lungs, because he shouldn’t be the one sitting here.

There was no Voltron without Keith.

  


**~~~~**

  


He wasn’t sure how he fell asleep nestled in the pilot seat of the red lion, but the all too familiar alarm woke him.

Panic saturated his blood as he sprinted down the hallway, hands sweating at his sides and stomach coiling with dread. He stopped at the threshold to the podbay as Hunk ran past him, a hand clamped over his mouth. “Hunk --” but he was already gone, a pallor to his skin Lance had never seen before.

Swallowing harshly, Lance slowly strode into the room, watching the pod and the way pieces of Keith’s flesh were ripped off his body.

“Are those teeth marks?” Lance gasped.

Teeth biting and tearing away Keith’s flesh. There was a permanent scream twisting Keith’s face, distorted and in pure agony. His arm was gone, leaving behind strings of severed muscles and flaps of skin.

“Is he being,” Pidge gagged, “eaten?”

No one answered. No one needed to because the evidence was right before them.

So they did the only thing they could: watch until Keith returned to his whole state, healed and with a small sleepy smile on his face like he was having a pleasant dream.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admittedly I started this fic before season 3 came out, so I started writing the intermission sections when I watched the newest chapters at the time! It's been fun to twist cannon and see how characters would react if someone else disappeared (ง ื▿ ื)ว
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and thank you so much to everyone who comments and leaves kudos, because your support means the world to me!! <3
> 
> Also, special shout out and thank you to my new beta, Seldx, who is amazing!!! (≧◡≦) ♡
> 
> You can also come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!


	32. And I Took The Path Less Traveled By

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to the angst fest, gals, guys, and nb pals <3
> 
> I definitely had the most fun thinking of the chapter titles for this arc haha (¬‿¬ )
> 
> **A small warning for this chapter:**  
>  This chapter is less gorey than the last, but it deals with some darker themes, so please be safe!! I'll put a summary of this chapter in the end notes in case anyone has to skip over some sections!

Keith woke slowly like waking from a nightmare that held tight to your wrists and drowned you underwater. He was gasping quiet and sweating under his threadbare blanket. Lance’s humming stopped, eyes darting from the river to Keith’s hunched form. Sitting up, Keith ran shaky hands along his body, ensuring that all his skin was whole and undamaged.

But not a single bite mark marred his skin.

Through chattering teeth, a tiny prayer mumbled from his lips, “A ti, Jowangshin, elevo mi alma.” His hands ran up his arms, trembling as each breath was a prayer, protective and pleading, pleading for things he once had and things he lost.

A gentle hand touched his shoulder.

Keith snapped his head to the side, eyes wide and terrified. Lance’s brow was furrowed with concern. “Keith,” he whispered softly, but it was a slap to Keith’s consciousness.

“ _Keith!_ ” Lance’s terrified voice echoed in his mind. And Keith saw the ecstasy on the zombie’s face as it feasted on Lance’s flesh, snapping muscles and licking its rotting lips.

A twig snapped, and he jumped to his feet.

“A horde! We need to go now,” Keith hissed, almost too hysterical to hold back his screams.

Lance’s brow furrowed, questioning Keith but before he could say anything, Keith was shaking the team awake. “We need to leave. Now,” Keith demanded, meeting Pidge’s gaze with a horror that couldn’t be faked.

She threw on her book bag and swung her bat over her shoulder without asking questions. There were instincts you developed after living in a hellacious world, and Pidge seemed to trust Keith’s.

They made their way down the riverbank. Lance kept watch from the back, bow poised and fixated on the tree line. Keith grabbed Pidge’s arm, pulling her at his panicked pace.

“A horde is coming, and I’m not sure if we can outrun them,” Keith’s words were a hushed whisper, eyes darting around the trees.

Pidge seemed about to debate the existence of the horde with the raise of a single eyebrow, but a loud groan echoed through the quiet of the forest. She stiffened under his grip, eyes darting from the trees to the broken bridge. Quickening her pace, she pulled from Keith's grasp, fingers tightening on her bat.

Pulling out of her grip, he sprinted back to Lance’s side. He grabbed his hand, pulling down the poised arrow.

“Stop fucking aiming, and run!” Keith growled, yanking Lance behind him, stumbling on the slippery bank of the river. The mud sucked at his feet, slipping and sliding and with each squelch he remembered the way mud had tasted when the zombies pinned him to the ground and dined on his flesh.

A zombie stumbled out of the woods. Yellow eyes rolled around in dry sockets, spotting the fleeing paladins. It opened its off-hanging jaw and screamed, bellowed out its rotting lungs and drawing the horde out of the woods like rising fog.

Keith splashed into knee deep water, wading to the cars. Hunk had kicked out a window, using it as a step to climb to the back windshield. Pidge climbed up immediately after, handing her nailed bat to Hunk. He propped her up to the bed of a pickup truck. Keith stood on the ground, crowbar drawn and ready to attack.

“Go, Lance!”

“But --”

“Go!” Keith screamed, watching as the zombies dragged limp feet through the riverbed, eyes focused and mouths drooling. He heard the crunch of glass beneath Lance’s feet as Shiro pulled him up.

Pidge was already three cars up, struggling to find a way to the top of the ramp, to the salvation perch atop the righted bridge. But the doors were slick and the cars crumpled in such a way to prevent it. They were too far from the top with no help of reaching the road. They were stuck on a broken slope of a bridge, hinged on the still constructed area.

Perched atop the car, the bat balanced in Pidge’s hand.

“Keith, come on,” Shiro pleaded.

Keith turned, tossed his crowbar up without looking twice and pulled himself up. Fingernails clawed at the bottom of his boots. He climbed atop the pickup truck as Shiro hammered off fingers and smashed in the tops of zombie heads like a fucked-up game of whack-o-mole.

Now they were all perched on the cars, watching the zombies surge beneath them in the fast paced water. The horde was insatiable, hungry and mauling with saliva dripping from rotting gums. They would be willing to wait forever for a possible meal, but there was only so long the team could wait with zombies clawing at metal and limited rations.

That was until the zombies learned to climb. Until they clambered on top of one another, fingernails biting into the metal, flesh shearing on the shattered glass. But it didn’t stop the drool from their hanging jaws or the greediness in their eyes.

There was only so high they could climb. Keith pushed Lance above him and stood as low as he could -- as if he could kill all the zombies with will alone. Shiro stood beside him, and he could almost laugh at his small suggestion to compete to see who could kill more. That was until one sunk its jagged nails in Shiro’s ankle, dragging him off the slick car roof.

Keith reached out, scrambling for Shiro’s hand. He slashed at zombies that feasted and held onto Shiro solely by their mawing jaws. Gritting his teeth, he felt the muscles in his shoulder pop under the current of Shiro’s shrieks -- a tonality Keith had never heard ripped from Shiro's throat.

His grip faltered, Shiro slipping farther down into the hungry mob.

Shiro’s screams were echoing, embedding in the lining of his memories, until a flash of blue feathers. An arrow jutted from his throat. Silencing the black paladin.

There was a small gasping smile on Shiro’s face as Keith sobbed and his muscles gave out in shock and fatigue. And Shiro dropped into the feasting mob.

“No!” he screeched, reaching out, prepared to lose his hand if it meant saving Shiro. A hand yanked him back. “Shiro!” Pulled him up to the next car hood, huddled next to Hunk’s broad chest.

A sobbed tore from his constricting throat as a zombie severed Shiro’s arm and lavished the dangling sinew and ligaments with a blackened tongue.

“Lance, how could you?” Keith spit, cursing out the one destiny had sworn he would protect.

“He was already a goner!” Pidge screamed, a startling volume from the girl the world quieted. But the horde was already swarming at their feet, so there was no reason to be quiet. Keith’s gaze darted to Lance, watching the tears trail down his cheeks and the steely determination on Pidge’s face, “Why should he suffer like that?!” She was shrieking motioning to the section of the zombies that were distracted feasting on Shiro’s body with gurgling moans.

Keith went weak in Hunk’s grasp. He was pushed behind the burly chested man, so he could tightly grasp his axe in preparation. “We could’ve saved him,” Keith mumbled, eyes tracking the greedy feasting of the zombies. “There must’ve been something we could’ve done.”

He was spun by a harsh hand on his shoulder. A tight fist grabbed the front of his shirt. A slap. Across his cheek. Stinging. Pidge’s hardened face, “Snap the fuck out of it!”

A half gurgled scream cut off as Hunk’s axe thudded into the metal of the car. Those who hadn’t sated their hunger with Shiro were climbing higher. Keith yanked out of Pidge’s grip and swung his crowbar down on a zombie’s head. But nothing seemed to stop them. And there always seemed to be more.

An echoing gunshot made Keith’s ears ring, exploding an eye of a searching zombie’s head. Keith turned and watched Pidge reload the gun, a steaming cartridge tumbling between the cars.

“We’re never going to make it,” Hunk whined, finally showing the vulnerability that Keith was so accustomed too. Not the callouses carved from swinging his heavy axe on large hands meant for gentle caresses and hugs.

“Shut up and focus on the horde,” Pidge snapped, swinging her bat down on the clawing hand of an approaching zombie. But there was a weakness to her voice, a resignation of their fate seeping into her lungs.

Keith glanced down the river. Ribbons of diluted red and hunks of flesh drifted down the current.

The horde was unending. More crawled out of trees, half limbs and searching eyes. And those they killed -- decapitated, crushed their brains, severed their spinal cords -- only became stepping stones for the determined and ravenous.

Hunk almost went first, a slashing hand and a zombie that clambered up on top of their car. Large and bulky and grabbing with powerful hands, sinking its fingers deep into Hunk’s shoulders. Pidge lept off her perch above them and smashed its face in with her nailed bat. She screamed as the clawing hands of the zombies latched on and yanked her to their drooling mouths.

“Pidge!” Hunk called, reaching with desperate, slashing hands.

Without a second, without a space for breath or a chance for survival, an arrow jutted from her eye as the zombies dragged her down the hood of the car. She landed limply on the bodies of cadaverous zombies.

Keith glanced up at Lance in horror that he had never felt before. His face was stony, a determination born from inevitability and desperation. “I will not let her suffer,” Lance stated, notching another arrow with bloody fingers, bringing it up to his cut cheek.

The arrow cut off a zombie mid-scream as its fingernails caught on Keith’s pants. He smashed the fingers away, kicking the body back into the clambering horde. The metal gave slightly as Lance jumped down next to him, one arrow bouncing in the small quiver.

The hatchet was familiar in Lance’s hand, the motions practiced as they fought off the zombies for as long as they could.

But the inevitability that had settled into Lance’s eyes, settled into the group the moment they were bit by those blunt, mauling teeth. So when a zombie tore desperate teeth through Hunk’s calf, he sent a glance to Lance, begging and frantic. The horde pulled at Hunk’s bloody clothes.

Lance wailed as he slashed the hatchet across Hunk’s throat.

There was a thankful smile on his lips as he careened into the grasping hands that lapped up at his blood and sucked out his organs with rotting lips.

“Hunk,” Keith mumbled, “Hunk!” he screamed, but the yellow paladin was gone. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Lance bellowed a scream that echoed against the grainy morning, pushing Keith behind him, pushing him up higher on the cars. The zombies swarmed upon the car, slashing at Lance’s flesh with jagged fingernails and boney fingers.

“Keith,” Lance shrieked. And Keith knew how it felt. Knew the way blunt teeth bit into skin and tore away muscles and skin and bone, crunching and slurping and moaning in their decaying mouths. “Keith! Please!”

Lance pleaded with him, hatchet no longer swinging, arms pinned or too useless -- muscles cut and bones crushed. Keith shook his head, tears blurring his vision as Lance’s blood splattered on his shoes. “I can’t.”

A small mumble, a whispered plea, “Please.”

And Keith brought the crowbar to Lance’s temple. Watched the way the flesh caved in. Watched limbs go weak and pliant in mauling grasps. Watched the small smile and delicate neck and broad shoulders and lithe fingers and bright eyes be consumed by zombies.

He had chosen this. He had chosen the path they took. He had chosen to not outrun them, to wait on the cars like a prize to be devoured, to be earned. He had distracted the team. He had caused this.

It was his fault. Goddess, it was his fucking fault.

So when the zombies clawed at his pants, nails scraping against the metal of the car, he didn’t fight them. He allowed them to take him and tear him apart as he thought only of his guilt.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember struggling so much at the beginning of this arc to get to the point where Lance died, and when I finally did that, I struggled to find some way for them to actually live through the hell I had created. . . ah, the struggles of writing haha
> 
> _Summary: the team climbs atop the cars by the broken bridge to avoid the zombies, and in order to prevent his friends from suffering after being bitten, Lance kills them -- leaving only himself and Keith. Once Lance is bitten, he begs for Keith to end his suffering, and Keith does much to his dismay_
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter!!
> 
> Shout out to my beta, Seldx, for being amazing and catching all of my typos!! <3
> 
> Thank you so so much to everyone who leaves comments because I cherish them and I love knowing that you're reading the current chapters!! (°◡°♡)
> 
> You can also come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!


	33. Intermission: Forced to Observe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheers!

No matter how many times the alarm sounded, it was like a shot of adrenaline right to the caverns of his heart. Lance jumped from Keith’s warm bed and sprinted towards the podbay, blue lion slippers slapping the ground.

Hunk was just steps behind him, but the minute they stepped past the threshold he gagged. Looking over his shoulder, Lance watched the color drain from Hunk’s features, lips parted in horror and disgust. “I’m sorry. I can’t.” Pivoting to leave the room, he elbowed Shiro out of the way in his rush to get out.

Lance turned away from the expression contorting Shiro’s features.

Like he was tethered in a trance, Lance walked to Keith’s cryopod, placing a gentle hand on it.

“What do you think is happening to him?” Lance whispered, watching as hunks of Keith’s body were torn away. Bruises bloomed on his pale flesh, face twisted in agony. And Lance wasn’t sure if seeing Keith writhing away from these bites would have been better or worse.

A thought that seemed to haunt his dreams whispered past Lance’s lips, “Do you think he can feel it?”

Lance turned wide, teary eyes to Shiro who looked on in horror. His jaw hung loose and his fists were clenched at his sides as if his body was struggling to contain every emotion that radiated from his stiff shoulders.

Clenching his jaw, Shiro turned towards Lance with a haunted gaze that looked so similar to when he remembered things from his year with the Galra -- tortured and vulnerable. “If I think about him feeling all of this shit, I would really -” Shiro cut himself off, biting his lip and grinding it between his teeth. His gaze flicked back to Keith, horrified but enraptured by the torment raking his body.

“Would what?” Lance prodded, feeling a sense of disassociation settle over him, like this was all the edges of a dream, warped and terrifying but only the product of imagination.

Shiro turned murderous eyes onto him. “I would find that witch and gut her and enjoy every fucking second of it.” He ground his fingers into his palms, and Lance could hear the soft hum of his Galra-given hand. Turning sharply, Shiro marched out the door and snapped, “I’m going to train.”

Pidge stumbled past him as she entered the podbay, glasses low on her nose and hair wild from sleep. Her computer was tucked under one arm as she slowly made her way to the cryopod. “Same as yesterday?”

Lance nodded as Keith’s arm was ripped off, strings of muscle swaying in its absence. She opened her computer, sitting cross legged on the floor and began typing, keeping track of everything that had happened like it wasn’t branded into everyone’s minds.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I love seeing Shiro so openly angry in this chapter, because he's been really good at hiding it from the other members of the team. I love team bonding!
> 
> Shout out to my wonderful beta, Seldx!!
> 
> Thanks for reading, and for all of your lovely comments and kudos! (°◡°♡)
> 
> You can also come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!


	34. Hoarding All These Feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey demons, it's me. ya boi
> 
>  **big warning for this chapter, y'all:**  
>  This is probably the darkest chapter of the fic, so please feel free to skip to the summary in the end notes and please stay safe!
> 
>  ** _more detailed warnings with some spoilers_**  
>  this chapter has the suicide tag in play, as well as canniabilism in a different facet than other chapters -- it could technically be viewed as vore (although I don't view it as sexual, but I wanted to give you all the warning)  
> If you want to skip this section, stop reading at "We can't do this. Not now, not when--" and start reading again at "He raced from his bedroll and vomited into the trees."
> 
> Stay safe <3

Racing for the bridge never worked. Never. Never. Never.

They were always surrounded, always devoured one by one. Picked off like delicacies presented on an hors d’oeuvres plate. Savored with fingers licked cleaned and instinctual moans resonating from the back of worn vocal cords.

How many times had they died like that? Trapped. Isolated. Killing each other off before the zombies tore the hearts from their chests and sucked the blood from their ventricles and the marrow from their bones.

How many times had he slit Shiro’s throat? How many times had he bashed in Pidge’s skull? How many times had he watched Hunk gargle and swallow around the crowbar in his throat? How many times had he watched Lance sacrifice himself for Keith and then beg and beg and beg for Keith to kill him? How many times had he hesitated? How many seconds did they suffer because of him?

_How many fucking times?_

Keith had tried to convince them to run not to the bridge, but to outrun the ravenous horde. Howling and shrieking and pulling on muscled limbs from fighting, always fucking fighting. But they always claimed at they wouldn’t be able to make it, instincts screaming for the nearest safety, too afraid to try. Too afraid to run blindly in the night away from the stumbling horde.

But Keith knew the kind of fate that awaited them. Fought them off on the ground for as long as he could, until Shiro and Hunk pulled him up by the scruff of his neck. Lance’s arrows were numbered -- flying blue missiles of hope. But nothing they did guaranteed their survival on the stacked cars.

He woke again, knowing every lump under his bedroll, knowing the timing over every bird call in the quiet night and the soft rumble of the river. “There’s a horde coming. We’re leaving.” The team was quick to their feet, jumping and slinging their book bags over their shoulders.

“Are you -”

Pidge began, but Keith yanked her along. “Pidge, for the love of the Goddess, follow my lead for once,” he snarled. The riverbed mud sucking at his boots as he trudged through it toward the stacked cars.

Standing with hands on his hips, he pointed to the pile of cars. “Lance, Shiro, you’ll draw the horde’s attention. Stand on the pick up truck, and we’ll pick off the zombies from behind. We’ve got about thirty minutes until they climb the cars, so we need to significantly reduce their numbers before then.

“Pidge,” Keith pointed toward downstream of the river, “Go southwest down the river. Hunk, go west, directly across from Lance and Shiro. I’ll take northwest after the horde swarms around the bridge.”

“Keith,” Pidge reprimanded, eyes curiously wide, “Wouldn’t it be better if we all fought them off from the cars. This is dangerous and stupid and if -- ”

“We’ll all die!” Keith shouted, crowbar swinging wildly, “So just fucking trust me!”

Pidge looked at him with suspicion in her gaze. But after a moment of quiet deliberation, she nodded, taking off down river. Keith wasn’t sure what made her change her mind, the insanity in his eyes, the desperation and panic that swelled in his chest at the mere thought of dying at the hands of these dead motherfuckers. But she trusted him, and he was thankful for it.

Shiro and Hunk followed her example, running to their positions immediately. Lance lagged a little, looking toward Keith. He was fully aware that Keith had put himself in the most dangerous position, poised where the zombies were marching from.

“Keith --”

“Save your arrows until they climb,” Keith commanded, stepping backward into the treeline, “You’ll need them.”

“Keith!” Lance screamed after him as he sprinted into the forest.

There was a moment of silence as Keith crouched in the forest. A moment where the birds had quieted and the river drowned to ambient white noise. A moment before the groans caught the wind and the tree branches snapped under plodding feet.

Shiro and Lance shouted cupping their hands around their mouths, stomping on the cars, clapping their hands, anything to make noise. Anything to draw their attention.

And like a tsunami, they poured from the forest with the intention to devour and consume, to ravish all in their path. Their hands were clawing, feet slapping and squelching in the mud of the riverbed. Mouths hanging open, they moaned at the mere thought of touching teeth to warm flesh.

Lance laughed the first time he cut off fingers of a clawing zombie. A laugh that was more of a bark, a howl of indifference to this fate. He hollered and shouted and stomped on the cars with a despondent glint in his eye. Keith needed to stop watching Lance, watching the way his boots slid across the hood of the car and panicking every second a zombie reached forward.

Keith stood crouched in the forest, eyes vigilant as the horde was drawn with screaming ferocity towards the distraction. They waded into the river and clawed at the cars. Swarming and moaning and completely enthralled by the delicacies before them.

Without a signal, he rushed forward, engaging the stragglers of the horde still stumbling out of the forest. One opened its mouth to scream, fingers clawing and reaching. Keith cut off its hands, letting them fall severed to the rotting leaves of the forest. Its howl of pain was silenced by the crowbar ripping through its flesh.

Keith ground his teeth and faced those still coming.

He started counting, but lost count at ten. Never looked at their faces, some still surprisingly human, with wide yellow eyes and drool over pink lips. Hair knotted. Fingernails cracked and bloody. Skin still flushed. Never allowed himself to humanize the things that had devoured him with blunt teeth and euphoria.

Sparing a second, he glanced back at the horde still surrounding the cars. Several were stumbling atop each other, finding footholds in jagged ribs and shoulders. Pidge stood splattered in blood, swinging the bat with a ferocity that belied her fear. Hunk swung his ax with a silent determination.

Shiro was smashing fingers and heads and Lance’s hatchet was embedded in the skull of a zombie that dropped to the river. Without thought, he grabbed the third hammer from Shiro’s waist and crushing in a zombie’s temple.

Keith turned his attention back to the horde, plucking off zombie’s from behind. Drawing their attention away, and slicing their limbs. Hunk’s voice rose, battle cries now a familiar chilling sound. Pidge danced in the water, drawing those desperate and starving away from the horde and sending them down the river in pieces.

An arrow flew from Lance’s bow. The zombies had learned to climb, scrambling atop each other with fingernails tearing on the slick metal cars. Keith screamed, sounding more and more like a desperate zombie; vocal cords shredded and hungering for things he could never grasp.

A hand seized around Lance’s ankle. Keith cut through the horde, screaming, and tearing.

But he wasn't fast enough. Never fast enough.

Not the first time. Not the second. Not the third. Not the fourth. Not even the fifth when Keith stood on the cars with Lance and battled them off to the best of his ability. But Shiro was overrun by the stragglers of the horde, and there was nothing Keith could do but watch from his position.

But the sixth time, he finally made it in time. His limbs seemed to know the exact angles on where to strike. Where to hit to send the heads flying with little resistance, which vertebrates had degraded. He knew where the first zombies would step, memorized the loud plodding of their footsteps. He knew this battlefield better than he knew himself, better than he knew Lance.

And the sixth time, he fought through the horde, slashing and feeling the clawing of fingernails along his skin. One severed body, reached up and tore into his flesh with saliva covered teeth. But he had made it. He had been fast enough.

He had not only saved Lance, he had saved everyone.

The battle had ended just as the sun crested the sky. His first success.

But why did it feel so hollow?

Was it the way that the team looked at him over the fire? Eyes creased and hands tight on their weapons, a wariness in their bodies that they had never exhibited around him before.

Keith’s hand drifted to his calf. They lit the fire in preparation to cut off his leg, stave off the infection. But it was too far gone, the edges tinted black before they cauterized it, flesh boiling and bubbling, but Keith barely flinched.

Pidge jumped slightly, bat swinging down from her shoulder.

He didn’t look at her, eyes only following the blood pattern in the old t-shirt they had used as a makeshift bandage. It was warm under his fingers even with the tourniquet around his thigh making his toes tingle. And the wound had begun to smell: rotting, moldy and musty, cloying and lining his lungs.

His hands trembled.

“I’m going to turn.” Keith spoke, eyes watching the dancing flames. Jowangshin, help him. He could already feel the tingle in his fingers and the sluggishness of his blood. “How long do I have?”

“Five hours maximum,” Pidge stated, eyes steely, “But the second your eyes turn yellow, we’ll have to kill you.”

“Pidge!” Lance was horrified, looking between the young leader, straight backed and nailed bat digging into the earth of the forest like a cane, and the boy with yellowing eyes, injured calf, and too little fear in his despondent expression. He grabbed at Pidge’s arm, “We can’t just kill him. He’s Keith! He’s --”

“Going to turn into a zombie,” Keith finished, tone cold and monotone. His fingers fell from his heated calf, “You should kill me right now before I have the chance to hurt you.”

Pidge stiffened, expression shocked. Shiro placed a calming hand on her shoulder. “Keith,” His tone was steady, that undercurrent of calm that always ran as the foundation of the team, the unyielding support. “We want to honor your,” And Keith watched him stumble around the words, fingers digging into Pidge’s shoulder enough to make her wince, “Last wishes.”

Keith nodded, fingers trembling before they touched his skin again. It was no longer hot but distantly cold. Like the kiss of death on his flesh.

“Can we --” Lance started, but he had to clear his throat before continuing, “Can we at least say goodbye to you?”

Keith’s eyes widened. His death, not since that first fateful day in the castle of lions, hadn’t been permanent. It was an abstract concept, something figurative and colored with poetic prose when there was nothing truly elegant about it. But would it mean something to _this_ Lance? Would it mean something to all of them?

Would it be something other than another of his multiplying failures?

He nodded.

Lance opened his mouth, but his eyes darted around the group. “Alone?” A tentative whisper above the crackling fire.

Shiro and Pidge walked a couple steps back, standing on the riverbed and watching the moonbeams dance over the tiny peaks. Hunk placed a comforting hand on Lance’s shoulder, “Do you want me to go?”

Lance shook his head, “Could -- could you go first? I need time to put my words together.” Hunk nodded, taking a seat next to Keith by the fire.

“Thank you,” Hunk admitted, eyes looking at the moon, barely visible in the morning sky rather than at Keith. Keith wondered how Hunk would react if Keith told him that in another lifetime, they were traveling the stars he sought rather than a zombie infested world. “If you hadn’t yelled at me Day Three, I don’t know if I would’ve survived.”

“I yelled at you?” Keith asked, looking for that sense of familiarity that had guided him so many times before.

Hunk chuckled, “In front of everyone.” Keith cringed, but Hunk was smiling a warm smile, “I’ll never forget what you said.” He scrunched up his eyes and met Keith’s gaze. His voice was an imitation of Keith’s, “‘I know someone as soft hearted as you doesn’t deserve this. But the whole world didn’t deserve this. That pregnant woman didn’t deserve to become a zombie,’” Hunk jabbed a finger at Keith’s chest, “‘So honor your pain. Honor the lives you take defending yourself and the universe. Honor them because we all deserved more than this.’”

With a soft smile, he sat back, “So thank you for everything, Keith.” He patted Keith on the shoulder, wiping a hand across his eyes as he pointed Pidge to his direction.

She sat on the other side of the fire, watching him with weary eyes. “You’re family, Keith and I didn’t want to have to lose another one of you to this fucking plague, but I’ll make sure that you don’t suffer.” Her voice faltered slightly, and it seemed like she wanted to say more, but couldn’t find the words.

Keith smiled lightly, finding something to say to her and the look of steely confidence she wore as a mask. “Please be safe, Pidge.”

She nodded, and stalked off to the group.

Shiro’s words were quiet, a whisper of forgotten times and memories and laughter. Reminiscing, sitting by the fire with soft eyes and a warm hand on his shoulder. Keith smiled up at Shiro. He gasped a little when he saw tears cascading down the black paladin’s cheeks.

“I love you, Keith. And if I could, I would take your place in an instant.” Shiro’s voice was a whisper.

There was a small traitorous part of him that begged and pleaded for Shiro to get them out of this battle, to no longer be the one that lives these days over and over like a fucked up PTSD-induced nightmare.

Keith nodded, avoiding Shiro’s eyes and the guilty curve of his lips. He leaned his dizzy head against Shiro’s shoulder, “I know. I love you, Shiro.”

Lance was the last to walk up to him, sitting down beside him with his back to the fire. Keith smiled lightly, knowing Lance had positioned himself this way to make it more difficult for Keith to see his face. But Keith had already seen the pain despite the shadows of the forest, in the flickers of firelight.

They both tilted their heads back and gazed at the rolling clouds, eyes searching for the constellations they had traveled and defended. The numbness had crept up Keith’s spine, settling in the crook of his neck. His fingers tingled, and his breaths were shallower. His mouth was drying, tongue heavy and burdensome in his mouth.

“Keith,” Lance whispered and Keith turned his head to face him. And it was like the first time Keith had realized he wanted to kiss Lance. They were inches apart. Breathing mingling, eyes searching, pleading, begging. Shoulders pressed together more firmly, only inches between their lips.

Keith planted his tingling hands firmly on the ground, inching forward to touch Lance. Aching to feel the heat of the other’s body when he was cradled in Keith’s arms. To feel shortened breaths against his neck. To feel Lance writhing out of pleasure rather than pain.To feel the way Lance grabbed onto him in a whole other vein of desperation than Keith had experienced before.

Lance’s fingers were a warm touch against his numbing neck, gentle and caressing against Keith’s jaw. Keith stiffened before relaxing into the touch, loving the way Lance had spoken with his hands, had tamed the ocean with his fingers, and plucked at bowstrings with his fingertips. But most of all, he loved how those fingers could coax impossible things out of him, like the soft gasp when those fingers tugged him the last inches closer.

Kissing Lance was like meeting the ocean at low tide. It was a soft caress, gentle touches that pulled apart his sanity and replaced all facets of his imagination. Keith’s tingling fingers dug into the dirt, fighting the urge to grab onto Lance and pin him against the earth and make him promise a million times over to not leave, to never leave.

Lance must have sensed his desperation in the kiss. Turning his body, he brought both hands against Keith’s cheeks and pulled them closer. It was high tide, smashing and powerful and breathtaking. Keith bit Lance’s lip, and he moaned softly. Keith couldn’t fight his hands anymore. They wound around Lance’s torso, dragging dirty smudges against his clothes. Lance smiled against Keith’s lips, tugging at his worn clothes to pull him closer.

“Keith,” Lance moaned, and Keith felt his heart shatter. He pulled away as far as Lance’s hands let him. Their breath mixed, lips still inches apart.

Keith breathed, exhales heavy from exertion.

Lance opened his eyes and met Keith’s. They were wide with a kind of desperation and panic Keith had never seen before, searching Keith’s gaze and placing firm hands on his chest, “We can’t do this. Not now, not when --”

Keith cut him off with a kiss. Because Keith was all too aware of the punishments of waiting, of going to bed alone, of waking up and never changing. Lance moaned at the touch of Keith’s tingling lips, at the intensity of his numbing hands. Folded under the desire Keith had felt running through his blood.

Lance’s hands dug into Keith’s shirt. He pushed Lance backward into the moist earth, claiming control of Lance’s fighting mouth and body. He tried to pull away, but Keith hungered for more. Hungered for more of Lance’s heated fingers across his body. Hungered for more of the way that Lance tasted. He hungered.

He bit down on Lance’s lips, pulling them between dull teeth. Lance moaned and so did Keith. He bit harder, chewing and sucking and tearing and blood was pouring into this mouth, tangy and sweet and quenching the hunger that had filled the hollowness of his body.

He pulled back and gazed down at Lance’s horrified expression, blood dripping from his lips as he licked them clean. “Delicious,” Keith moaned and couldn’t fight the way his hands pinned Lance to the ground or the way his teeth snapped around Lance’s screams.

It was delicious, a delicacy beyond words. And Keith was so hungry, hungry, hungry.

A bat slammed into the side of his skull, nails jutting into his mind. But he didn’t feel anything other than the insatiable hunger that gnawed at his lungs as he screamed. Pidge stood over him, crying as she slammed the bat into his face repeatedly. Until his fingers no longer trembled and he returned to Lance’s soft humming.

The day reset like he hadn’t just devoured Lance. And loved every second of it.

He raced from his bedroll and vomited into the trees. His hands trembled, and he screamed. Screamed. And screamed. And screamed. But the taste still coated his tongue.

Lance was suddenly at his side, placing a delicate hand on Keith’s trembling shoulder. He jumped at the unexpected touch. Lance’s brows furrowed in confusion, lips moving, speaking. His lips moved, glistening as he licked them. But they stopped moving, sucking one between his teeth.

Keith wanted to taste them again.

With a scream, he punched the tree, turning away from Lance. The rest of the group was up, concern written on their faces. He wiped the back of his hand over his lips, lips that hung loose and open like mauling jaws and memories of flesh between teeth.

Clamping a hand over his mouth, he took several deliberate steps away from Lance.

He heard the snap of twigs and a moan that could have been the rustle of trees. He had wasted too much time. There was no hope of survival. Not this time.

“There’s a horde coming,” Keith announced, pointing in the direction where they would come. He walked over to the campsite, grabbing Pidge’s shotgun from beside her bedroll, “Run. Not to the cars, down the river.” He cocked the shotgun and walked forward toward the groans.

“Go!” Keith yelled, gripping the shotgun tighter. He didn’t meet their eyes.

“Keith, it’s suicide for you to try to hold off a horde alone,” Pidge yelled, shoving her items in her bookbag and slinging it over her slender shoulders.

Keith chuckled, tipping his head back and laughing with the taste of Lance still on his tongue and the twinge of hunger in his stomach.

The shadowy fog of the marching horde appeared through the trees, like ghosts rising from the dead at the witching hour. He had wasted too much time. And he could just try again right?

With a wicked smile, he turned around to see Pidge, waiting, hands gripping her baseball bat. Lance watched him warily from the side, the confusion and concern still settled in his brow. “I’m not going to try to hold them off, Pidge. I’m just going to distract them,” Keith announced, insanity making his voice rise.

He turned the cocked shotgun and placed the barrel in his mouth, parting his lips wide. And pulled the trigger. Covering up the taste of Lance with the taste of gunpowder, ash, and his own blood.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's the darkest chapter of this fic ∑(O_O;)
> 
>  
> 
> _Summary: the team finally defeats the horde, but Keith accidentally gets bitten during the fight and will transform in a zombie in a matter of hours. He just wants to die and start over, but the team wants to say goodbye. During their goodbyes, Keith and Lance kiss -- and it's cute until Keith starts turning zombie during their kiss and ends up biting/eating Lance. . . he wakes up and sacrifices himself to allow the team more time to get away._
> 
>  
> 
> I don't know if I told you all, but last chapter before the horde attacks were when Keith and Lance were originally supposed to kiss. . . but because I thought that Lance wouldn't let himself get distracted while on watch, it got moved to later in the fic and ended up like this instead of something sweet. . . . sooooo yeah (O_O;)
> 
> Well I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and on a happier note, I listened to a lot of Hidden Citizens while writing this arc, so you should go check them out!!
> 
> Shout out to my beta, Seldx!!
> 
> Thank you all so much for your wonderful comments and kudos! They all really mean the world to me, and I'm prepared for a lot of screaming after this chapter haha
> 
> You can also come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!


	35. Intermission: The Red Paladin, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy, y'all (･ω<)☆
> 
> I'm sorry that this is a day late; I honestly have no excuse. . .
> 
> But I hope you enjoy!!
> 
>  
> 
> _there is a mention of suicide in this chapter, so please be safe!!_

After the fourth day of watching Keith be eaten alive, Lance stopped responding to the alarms, but he couldn’t fight the surge of panic that overwhelmed him at the very sound. Instead he nestled into Keith’s sheets and inhaled, searching for the fading scent of cinnamon and cloves. On the nights he slept in Red’s cockpit, she would purr murderously into his mind, drowning out the sound of the alarm and stirring up unfamiliar nightmares.

He willfully chose to ignore the implications of the fact that only places where he could fall asleep were Keith’s bed or Red.

  


**~~~~**

  


Lance sat at the breakfast table, playing with his food goo rather than eating it. He watched it slide off the spoon back onto the plate with a splatter. The entire team was gathered, not speaking with the weight of Keith’s current position heavy on their minds.

“Hey buddy.” Hunk smiled looking at Lance, nervousness contorting his expression as he scratched a hand against the back of his neck. He cast a glance at Shiro as if looking for confirmation or support. “You know, we all care about Keith. I mean, he taught me everything I know about fighting. Which isn’t much, but that’s more on me.”

Hunk shrugged and Lance fought the temptation to roll his eyes. The tone his best friend was using was so familiar, and he sorely wasn’t in the mood for it.

“He’s always been more willing to listen then I’ve given him credit for,” Pidge chimed in, pushing up her glasses and smiling. “Like when I needed someone the most, Keith surprisingly was there.”

And Lance didn’t want to think about how he’d spent his last day with Keith speaking Spanish in the quiet hallways of the castle -- and he listened, so attentive, repeating words over and over until he pronounced them correctly.

Shiro sighed a little, placing his spoon down with a little laugh. “He’s so different from when I first met him at the Garrison.” The smile on his face was big and dreamy as he continued, “If you guys thought he was rash and impulsive now, you should’ve seen him back then. He’s always been a troublemaker.” Shiro chuckled a small laugh, nostalgia painting his features.

“We’re all struggling with the same hurt right now,” Hunk said, looking back at Lance. He had barely looked up from his food, not wanting to see the looks on their faces. Pidge nodded in agreement.

“But you know that he’d be the first one to tell us that we have to move on,” Shiro stated, placing a steady hand on Lance’s shoulder. “Keith has always known how important Voltron is to the universe, and he would want us to keep fighting.”

“So we have to try to find a new pilot for the red lion,” Allura added, voice emphatic and regal.

Lance sighed, thrusting both hands in his hair. “I know you’re right. I know.” His voice was a soft whisper, full of regrets and a million things he would do differently.

  


**~~~~**

  


They didn’t expect to find a new paladin so soon. Didn’t expect Blue to lock out Lance and force him into the awaiting arms of the red lion -- not that anyone would be surprised if they knew the number of nights Lance had been rocked to sleep by her presence. Then with Allura as the new pilot for the blue lion, Voltron was formed, sluggish and awkward and barely verging on functional, but together nonetheless.

And every day that Lance woke to another blaring alarm, his connection with Red deepened. Red growled with every bolt of energy she shot, purred with every explosion and dead Galra. She thrived on killing the things that had incapacitated her pilot. Lance couldn’t help but smile either.

Victory tasted like gunmetal and steel.

Three weeks passed and Keith was devoured every morning, pulled apart fiber by fiber. Lance buried his face in the pillow, blocking out the alarm and everything it meant. But some mornings it was too difficult to fall back asleep, nightmares of Keith filling his slumbering mind. Since he was already awake from the alarm, he got ready, dragging out his morning routine and relishing in the small distracting intricacies.

When he made his way to the kitchen for breakfast, Pidge sat at the table. Her eyes were tracing the computer screen, puffy and red underneath her glasses. Lance rushed forward, pulling out a chair. Shiro was already by Pidge’s side, fist clenched and jaw tight.

“You okay? What happened?” Lance asked, and Pidge’s eyes were accusatory.

“Well, you know I have that video feed on Keith so I can monitor his symptoms and maybe configure a predictive algorithm, right?” She wiped her baggy sweatshirt cuff under her nose as Lance nodded in response. “But this morning was different.”

“How?”

Pidge clicked a couple buttons and turned her computer around so that Lance could see. He watched Keith’s mouth open and suddenly the back of the cryopod was splattered red with chunks of brain matter and fragments of skull. The video feed stopped and Lance felt his stomach roil. He dug his nails into his palms.

“What?” Lance mumbled, barely able to force the heavy words from his lips.

“Keith was probably shot.” Shiro answered, not meeting Lance’s gaze. Cracking his knuckles, Lance watched the way Shiro ground his teeth, muscles jumping against his jaw. “By what, we can’t figure out.”

“I said it looks like suicide,” Pidge grumbled, turning the laptop back to face her. She pointed at the screen, “I mean with the trajectory and the way that he opens his mouth, it just makes the most sense.”

Lance placed his shaking palms on the table, attempting to calm the minor tremble and the small elation of solving a single problem only to be faced with a million questions. “But what the fuck does it mean?”

Pidge’s grimacing smile was rueful. “I have no fucking idea.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Red Paladin Lance!!
> 
> I'm so glad that so many of you enjoyed the last chapter!! And for those who skipped the gore/canniablism, I'm glad that I could give you a warning and a summary and that you've still decided to stick with this fic!! I'll continue to give warnings and summaries for necessary chapters in the future!
> 
> Thank you all for being so wonderful and always encouraging me with your wonderful comments <3
> 
> You can also come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!


	36. Compassion is not for the Champion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No necessary warnings for this chapter!! Enjoy ~~

He waited a moment, listening to Lance’s soft humming, enjoying the quiet caress of the night. The sooty taste of gunpowder settled on his tongue. He regretted how the days reset immediately, no dreams or waste of time or small laughs on nights he died.

He sat up, and looked at Lance, his eyes carefully traced the treeline, shoulders taught and bow waiting in his lithe fingers.

“A horde’s coming,” Keith announced, watching the way Lance’s delicious lips fell open in shock. He stood, kicking at Pidge’s shoes and shoving items into his bookbag. “And this time we’re going to make it,” he mumbled to himself before he instructed the team on how to win.

He had done it last time. He would do it this time.

  


**~~~~**

  


He crouched in the forest, watching as the stragglers of the horde pushed through the last barrier of trees before he sprinted forward. Each strike was precise, lobbing off heads and almost smiling. Because he had mirrored that same mindless hunger. He had tasted flesh, and if he tried to rationalizing all of the thoughts in his mind or the echo of hunger in his stomach, he would break down -- knees sinking into the riverbed, tears and screams too much for his small lungs, too much pain for his shortened time in this realm.

Marching toward the cars, he stomped on the softened skull of a clawing zombie, the one that had bit him before. With his planted foot, he swung his crowbar down, decapitating it with a twisting grin on his features.

Lance smiled as Keith marched forward, like an avenging angel stepping on the fodder of fallen demons, almost enjoying the way his boots crushed rib cages and fragmented skulls. Lance hopped down from the roof of the pick-up truck, pulling his hatchet out of the skull of a zombie. When he pulled it the head just bobbed up out of the water, so with a grunt, he placed a foot on the zombie’s neck and yanked.

With a smirk, he flipped the hatchet in his hands before tucking it into his belt. “That’s why they call me the sharpshooter.” He grabbed his salvageable arrows from the eye sockets and throats of deceased zombies.

“No one calls you that,” Keith laughed, unable to fight the euphoria singing in his blood.

“Holy fuck,” Pidge whispered, standing on the riverbed, bat falling to the mud, “We -- we killed an entire horde.”

Hunk scratched at the back of his hair, matting it with bloody fingers, “There’ve got to be at least fifty here.”

Shiro placed a strong hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Great plan, Keith. We wouldn’t have made it if not for you.”

There was a chorus of agreement, but Keith couldn’t meet any of their eyes, because they didn’t need to know the amount of times he failed in order to achieve this one success. He licked his lips and fought for a smile.

Pidge stretched, swinging the bat through the air. “Alright, since we’re already up, let’s go.”

They marched down the riverbed, violently pulling their feet from the mud that sucked at their shoes. The trees grew denser, crowding them until they were knee deep in water. Pidge stopped them and pointed at the upcoming bridge, loaded with cars.

“We need to cross up there. It doesn’t look like we can make it much farther this way,” Pidge commented, and Keith swallowed his anxiety, tightening his grip on his crowbar. “The access road is just off the Fulton Industrial Boulevard.”

She didn’t have to say more as she strode forward. They had already encountered the horde they were afraid of engaging on the highway. It could only mean that Atlanta was far more overrun they had thought to have a horde rummaging across the river. It only meant that another attack was imminent.

They scrambled up a steep hill to reach the road of the small bridge. Cars were jutting into the forest, vines wrapping around their wheels and fallen branches piercing through windshields. There were several accidents, cars joined together by crushed bumpers and buckled metal. Pidge clambered atop a car and looked over the bridge.

“Looks clear.” She hopped to the roof of the next car, denting the metal with the force of her landing.

The rest of the team was quick to follow.

The sun beat down on them, causing beads of sweat to travel down Keith’s spine. The crowbar was heavy in his grip, and he envied Lance and Shiro who had free hands, weapons tucked into their belts. But the weight of it was so familiar, a comfort that he sought.

The pathway of cars led directly to the highway, so Pidge jumped off the cars and wandered back into the sparse forest on the other side of the river. The access road appeared ten minutes later. It was a dirt road, surrounded on either side by trees, the side by the highway was less dense and they could see the sea of cars and roaming zombies through them. There were several that appeared to be trapped between cars, pinned and vulnerable as they cried out in hunger.

Keith’s stomach roiled, licking his lips and feeling his stomach growl in response. He felt nauseous, taking a step back from Lance and gripping his crowbar tighter. He averted his gaze to the dense forest on the side that faced the river. The thickness of the trees blocked the view of the river, making it just a soft gurgling in the distance.

His hands were tense on the crowbar watching for walking corpses or scavengers as they made their way down the access road, traveling alongside the birthplace of zombies.

  


**~~~~**

  


Pidge stopped them when the sun peaked in the sky, pulling them several feet into the dense forest. She fished out several granola bars and her water bottle. “Lunch.” She tore a bite off her bar, chewing with her mouth open and watching the highway beyond, bat leaning against her hip.

Keith looked at Lance, watching the way his teeth bit into the crumbling bar, the way he licked his lips and moaned softly at the taste of food. The granola bar crunched in Keith’s hands as he shoved into his pocket, suddenly not hungry anymore.

“You better eat,” Shiro demanded, pushing his shoulder into Keith’s. His smile was wide and Keith blinked, jumping back at the memory of an arrow jutting from Shiro’s throat. He raised a single eyebrow, placing a calming hand on Keith’s shoulder, “You okay?”

“Yeah, just not hungry.” He shoved his trembling hands in his pockets. “Just anxious for today to be over.” So that he could wake somewhere else. He had saved Lance, and he was ready to be done with zombies and this hunger that still gnawed at him.

Hunk sighed, “Agreed. I want to be out of Atlanta as soon as possible.” He shoved the wrapper into his pocket, taking large gulps out of Pidge’s water bottle.

“How far is the prison from the edge of Atlanta?” Lance asked, licking his fingers, eyes never leaving the highway in front of them.

“About 100 miles,” Pidge rolled out her neck, “So about another week after we clear Atlanta today.” The team nodded. “Alright, off your asses. Let’s go.”

Keith had never felt more anxious than the entire journey past Atlanta. It turned out that the access road was definitely the way to travel. They didn't see any scavengers, probably too afraid of the zombie population of Atlanta to camp nearby.

They made camp just outside of Atlanta, settling on another dinner of granola bars rather than risking a fire. Keith didn’t volunteer for the first shift, ready to fall asleep. He curled in his bedroll and let the exhaustion of the repeated day overwhelm him and lull him to sleep.

  


**~~~~**

  


He woke to Pidge kicking at his shoes. Groaning, he pulled his knees in closer, feeling uneven gravel dig into his flesh as he shifted. The blanket was threadbare as he yanked it up to his shoulders, exposing his booted feet to the breeze. She kicked again, harder this time with a small hiss, “Get the fuck up, Kogane.”

Keith ground his teeth and sat up to the sight of a shotgun in his face, so reminiscent of his first night in the last realm.

But there was something so familiar about the shotgun and the way it settled so familiarly in Pidge’s hand. And the set of her features, twisted and hardened under a thin layer of dirt. And the smell to the air, all pine and the undercurrent of something rotten, not unlike decaying leaves at the cusp of winter.

His muscles tensed, head jerking to the side as he glanced around him.

Ice shattered in his veins -- a cold rush of dread, of visceral horror that still surrounded him, held tight to his fate and tethered him to this reality.

A reality where he’d eaten Lance.

The team was still huddled in their small campsite, book bags used for pillows and threadbare blankets pulled against their chins. Lance was curled in a tight ball beneath his blanket, and Keith felt the fading pangs of hunger gnaw on his ribs - whether it was from missing lunch or the edges of his nightmares.

Pidge’s voice snapped him out of his mind as she pushed the gun into his hand, “Your watch.”

He nodded and took his position with numb limbs and a thundering heart. Closing his eyes briefly, he reached out for Jowangshin, wanting answers, wanting company, wanting the companionship he didn’t know he could miss while in a group of his closest friends. He kept watch, pulling the granola bar from lunch out of his pocket.

He chewed slowly, struggling not to gag on the dryness of the food, aching for something tangier to quench his appetite. His breath was measured, grinding his teeth more than chewing. He ate the entire bar and ignored the way his stomach roiled as he finished out his watch.

Shaking Hunk awake, he pressed the shotgun into his capable hands before sleeping in the bed the yellow paladin had vacated. It was warm, and Keith nestled his head against Hunk’s book bag, and let himself dream of other worlds and other times when he fought Galra and not yellow-eyed zombies.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed the chapter!! I know that a lot of people were expecting the zombie universe to end this chapter, but it seems we still have a ways to go haha ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
> 
> If you enjoyed, please drop me a kudos or comment!! I honestly read them all the time, and they truly make my day!
> 
> I also wanted to apologize for publishing a day late (・_・;) I will be on time next week!! I promise!!
> 
> You can also come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!! <3


	37. Intermission: The Red Paladin, Part 2

Nestled in the pilot seat of the red lion, Lance felt his thoughts drift to the moment that Red became _his_ lion, where he became The Red Paladin, where he took Keith’s spot. His stomach turned at the memories, but that didn’t stop them from pouring into his mind.

> “We can’t do this much longer,” Pidge groaned as the green lion careened into space as several fighter jets followed after her.
> 
> Lance’s hands twitched over Blue’s controls, but he wasn’t close enough to Pidge to reach her -- several Galra cruisers stood between them.
> 
> Hunk jumped in the line of fire, the armor of the yellow lion absorbing most of the impact as Green shook out her head and pounced over Yellow, slicing the fighters with her jawblade. “That’ll teach ‘em!” Hunk cheered, but they weren’t anywhere close to victory.
> 
>   
> 
> 
> **~~~~**
> 
>   
> 
> 
> “This cannot happen again,” Allura stated, tone firm and shoulders tensed, but her eyes fixated on the cryopod.
> 
> The guilt was heavy on Lance’s shoulders, like his bone marrow had transmuted into cement, heavy and burdensome. He was the one who had resisted the change, even while nestling in Red’s cockpit for naps and comfort. And where had that gotten them?
> 
> Hunk was in the cryopod next to Keith, wearing a look of peaceful slumber like he was napping on the couch, head lolled to the side and lips slightly parted. The small wound on his forehead had bled profusely but it wasn’t anything to worry about, Coran had assured them. But Hunk’s dizziness and headache indicated a concusion, so he was shoved into the cryopod for a quick fix up.
> 
> But it had been Lance that put him there.
> 
> “We need Voltron,” Allura stated, gaze drifting to Lance, but he shrugged his shoulders, hands clenched at his sides and eyes downcast. “I know that this isn’t ideal nor is it fair to --”
> 
> Lance cut her off with the sharp shake of his head. “I don’t care anymore. I won’t be the cause of this anymore.”
> 
> Without another word, Lance turned on his heel and sprinted out of the podbay as if he could run away from the guilt that darkened his shadow and his thoughts.
> 
> His feet instinctively carried him to the red lion’s hanger, sweat dampening the collar of his shirt. The door opened with a soft hiss and a gust of heated air, almost tinted with the scent of the ocean, the beach, home.
> 
> Straightening his shoulders, he marched forward, much to the amusement glittering in Red’s eyes. He sat down in the pilot seat and reached for the controls, but his hands hovered just above, trembling in the dim light of the cockpit. His eyes analyzed the dark dashboard, blank since the battle with Zarkon all those days ago.
> 
> Could he really do this? Take Keith’s lion? Admit that he was gone even though he was still on the ship, breathing and very much alive for the majority of the day? Kill any hope he had of Keith waking up?
> 
> Squeezing his eyes closed, he pictured Hunk’s peaceful face in his mind, trapped behind the blue veil of the cryopod. And Keith’s small smile seemed to cheer him on.
> 
> His hands dropped to the controls, curling his fingers tightly enough that they stopped trembling.
> 
> A loud roar echoed through his mind, carrying the scent of cinnamon as Red reared her head. With a flicker, the dashboard was a lit in hues of red and white, bathing his skin in scarlet light. Shaking her head, Red purred, brushing against his mind in a plume of flames so different from the soothing undertow of Blue’s thoughts. The red lion was almost like the touch Keith’s mind when they formed Voltron, a bright red light that almost threatened to burn itself out in heedless actions.
> 
> Through Red’s eyes, he watched the hanger door open and his teammates rush in, lips parted and confusion painting their features.
> 
> Shiro’s eyes glinted with hope -- like if Red was awakening it meant Keith was only seconds from exiting the cryopod.
> 
> Slowly unclenching his hands from the controls, Lance collapsed back in the seat as Red lowered her head. And when he didn’t move immediately, she purred in his mind, ready to throw him out of the seat if she had to. Red was nothing if not confrontational.
> 
> Steeling himself, Lance rose from the seat and walked down the ramp to his teammates, hands swinging heavily by his sides.
> 
> “Lance,” Allura stepped forward, disappointment heavy on her lips, “it seems that you’ve connected with Red. Congratulations.”
> 
> He nodded in response, unable to met her or Shiro’s gazes -- disappointment and crushed hopes so easily visible. And thankfully Pidge spoke up before the silence grew suffocating, “But we still need a pilot for the Blue lion.”
> 
> Shifting his weight to one hip and smirking, Lance pinned Allura with his eyes. “I think I found the perfect one to take Blue from me.”
> 
> Her smile was found, but there was something dampening everyone’s emotions -- like they were realizing that this was real. They were creating Voltron without Keith.
> 
> Because it was time for them to realize: Keith wasn’t leaving the cryopod anytime soon.

Realizing that this was all for greater good didn’t make Blue putting up a partial barrier between them any easier. It didn’t soothe the shattered hope that rattled in his chest with every breath.

Red’s soft pur pulled Lance out of the tumble of his thoughts, the dangerous spiral that teetered on the edge of his consciousness.

“Thanks girl,” Lance mumbled as Red filled his mind with visions of him and Keith cuddled in the small window of the castle, speaking in broken Spanish. There was something different about the scene, but Lance couldn’t identify it before the wave contentedness lulled him to sleep.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, I have no idea why this wasn't part of the last chapter. . . like I read this chapter and had to do major editing to get it to fit back in with the plot haha ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ hope you enjoyed the funky formatting haha
> 
> hope you all enjoyed!!
> 
> Thanks for all the wondering kudos and comments!
> 
> You can also come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!


	38. Feasting on Scraps of Your Affection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can't tell, I had the best time thinking of titles for this arc haha and they are all kind of foreshadowing if you go back and look (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ
> 
> _warning for this chapter:_  
>  there is some pretty explicit violence in this chapter, so if you wish to skip the majority of that, I would stop reading at "Fuck you!" Pidge growled and start reading again at Keith's scream was muffled by the dirt! Stay safe, and a small summary will be included at the bottom for all those who choose to skip! <3

The access road followed the highway past the length of Atlanta. It was exhausting, constantly searching for possible threats, close enough to the city to make them all overly wary. It wore on their nerves, fraying them until every snapping twig made Keith jump.

And every day that he woke up to the feeling of Pidge kicking his shoes and shoving a shotgun in his hands, he cringed. He was aware that there must be something else, another scenario to protect Lance from. It wasn’t unlike the first day where he had put himself in danger to protect Lance from the undead zombie. He was constantly on edge, even more so than the wary paladins.

He knew something was coming.

So when a tree branch fell in the access road, Keith was by Lance’s side, crowbar at the ready. He hissed, “Wait.”

Pidge paused, staring at the tree branch before her gaze drifted upwards.

People dropped from the branches and surrounded them with blood-painted faces and patched-together weapons of bone and leather. One smiled with broken teeth and delirium in his eyes. Several had necklaces of strung together finger bones. Others wore armor of long bones, tied with tan leather.

“Scavengers,” Pidge growled, spitting on her hands and choking up on the bat.

“We don’t want any trouble,” Shiro attempted to placate, hands extended, hammers swinging slightly at his waist, “Just safe passage.”

One tilted their head before tossing it back with a fit of laughter, bone necklaces jingling. He slapped the man beside him, licking his glossy lips, “They think they can negotiate.”

“We have you surrounded, soldier,” a girl drawled, pointing the tip a bone sword at Shiro’s sternum. “This is not the time to be playing peacemaker.”

Shiro ran a hand through his hair, shrugging. “I honestly hate resorting to violence.” With a practiced ease, he flipped a hammer out of his waistband, shattering the sword before swinging back and smashing her temple.

The fight was short and bloody. Keith stood by Lance’s side until they were surrounded. Boneswords and slapdash weapons pointed at their throats. A girl trilled with laughter, tying their hands and confiscating their weapons.

Several men grabbed their dead, dragging them by their feet with a strange sense of hunger Keith didn’t want to feel resonating in the lining of his stomach. They forced the paladins to follow them to their camp. Several fires burned under rotisseries made of shards of scrap metal. Two had people tied to them, eyes glossy and mouths stuffed open with herbs like roast pigs.

The bodies of the dead scavengers were unceremoniously slapped onto a table where several people, dressed in ragged, bloody clothes, ran up with knives in their hands. They quickly salvaged the meat -- slicing the muscle from the bone and hanging hunks in the drying hut. Carefully-peeled skin was strung up for tanning leather. Bones were polished and piled for later use.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Hunk gagged, words garbled and more of a burp then English.

A man with the most elaborate blood-paint on his cheeks walked confidently out of a small shelter. His bone necklace was overly decorated, climbing up his neck and flaring out over his shoulders. He extended his hands, bones of his armor jangling.

“Welcome to our camp,” he exclaimed, “We’re always glad to see unrotted ones. I’m sorry that we had to detain you, but we cannot risk your escape. However, if you promise to join our ranks and participate in a ritual feast, as the leader, I can give you full rights as members of my clan.”

“Fuck you!” Pidge growled, “You’re a fucking sicko!”

The chief nodded, and Pidge made a small sound in the back of her throat as her own bat was used to crush her skull. She fell to the soft earth, eyes glossy and lips parting with a bloody bubble. With a disgruntled groan, the scavenger that had caved in her skull tossed her limp body onto the table. Her fingers twitched, a soft moan.

A girl shoved a knife into Pidge’s stomach, splattering blood onto her clothes and pulling out her still warm organs.

Hunk threw up on the ground with a small whimper.

“No. D-don’t touch her,” a fractured whisper sounded from Lance like an exhaled sob, unable to tear his eyes away from Pidge.

Shiro spun and slammed his heel into the nearest scavenger’s knees, making him cry out. Thrashing and violent and resonating with every bit of vengeance. The scavengers yelled, charging forward with sharpened bones and animalistic snarls. Lance and Hunk followed suit, growling with blunt teeth and dangerous long legs.

With a hiss, Keith lunged forward at the leader. Even with bound hands, Keith was vicious, kicking and snarling, unafraid to die because he’d already experienced far worse.

Keith kicked the leader directly in the thigh, hearing the violent snap of bone under a sharp scream. The red paladin dodged a punch, dodged several, but ultimately without his hands he was at too great of a disadvantage. His face was slammed into the dirt. Ringing in his ear and blood tasting in his mouth. Hands quickly pinned him from behind with the sharp pain of a knee grinding against his spine.

He watched as Shiro was pulled up to a seated position, blood dripped from his nose. Hunk was laying on his stomach, a young scavenger perched on his back and a knife digging into the flesh of his neck. Lance was pinned underneath two men, one sitting on his long legs that continued to thrash in the muddy ground.

The leader motioned to another member with a small nod, sitting on a small stool, fingers digging into the flesh of his uninjured knee. They sliced a chunk of thigh from one of people tied to a rotisserie, steaming and bloody and still dripping onto the earth. The piece of steaming meat dangled in front of Shiro’s face, swinging between clenched fingers. He reared back.

“Eat it and live,” the leader growled.

“Fuck no.” Shiro stated, snarling and eyes fixated on the piece of thigh.

The leader shook his head, adjusting the bones around his neck. His voice was softer, almost tantalizing and convincing, eyes fixated on the meat that almost touched Shiro’s lips. But Shiro shook his head, gaze darting to Pidge -- skin pulled back and head dangling off the table, a single trail of blood carving up her cheek, eyes glassy and glasses crushed into the mud. The black paladin’s gaze only hardened, teeth grinding and anger igniting his cheeks.

With a sigh, the leader motioned the scavenger closer to him, taking the piece of meat. “Kill him,” he stated with the flip of his wrist, before taking a moaning bite out of the meat. Hunk whimpered as Shiro’s throat was cut, a spill of slow blood over the front of his clothes. A small gurgle. Eyes rolling back as he slammed back to the dirt, lifeless.

Keith’s scream was muffled by the dirt, mud caking the inside of his lungs. He growled and bucked under the forceful hands pinning him. “I’ll kill you. I’ll fucking kill you.”

The leader turned steely eyes on Keith, dangling the bitten hunk of meat between his fingers. There was still blood rolling off it like beads of sweat. The gristle was apparent as the leader chewed the meat with slow rolling bites.

Keith swallowed the unwanted saliva in his mouth, silencing the rumble of hunger in his stomach. The leader seemed to notice his muffled desires, striding over with a painful limp and pulling Keith up by his hair. He dangled the piece of meat in front of Keith’s face, “Eat it.”

He inhaled sharply, and the smell of the meat hit his nostrils. He could taste Lance on his tongue, the snap of fresh flesh and the tanginess of blood and the sweetness of screams. And even though his mind reeled at the thought of its taste, his instincts swooned, reminding him of the granola bar that tasted like ash and cardboard and empty bile in his stomach.

But this meat was dead, cooked and prepped. Not that it could sate his hunger that had echoed in the nights since he’d become a monster. His stomach still rumbled.

Opening his mouth, a droplet of drool fell from the corner of his lips. “Kill me. Please.” His plea was a whisper, the only thing he could do before his blunt teeth tore into meat, tore into a control he didn’t want to test.

He’d never longed for Jowangshin’s fire more than at that point, to swallow him whole and devour him with a hunger and desperation that clawed through his bloodstream.

Jowangshin, please.

The leader pulled back with a laugh that splattered spittle on Keith’s face. “How you say that with a face of pure desire, I know not.” Keith turned his eyes to Lance whose face was buried in the dirt. There was a new horror in those eyes not born from the leader dangling human meat between his fingers or ordering the death of his friends.

He looked at Keith like he was a monster in human skin. Like a zombie, reanimated in his own body. And how could he deny what he had become?

The leader dropped Keith’s hair before shaming his foot on the back of Keith’s skull. A cry burst from his lips, but he welcomed the distraction from the hunger clawing at his stomach. Closing his eyes, he waited for the blackness of death and the familiar feeling of Pidge kicking his shoes and thrusting the shotgun into his hand.

  


**~~~~**

  


Pidge kicked at his shoes, waking him forcefully. Before she could shove the shotgun into his hands, Keith wrapped her in a tight hug. She gasped slightly, stiffening against him. His breathing was ragged as he fought the trembling of his chin and the tears that threatened to escape. His fingers dug into the loose fabric of her jacket.

“Keith, what the hell?” she hissed, but she gently stroked a hand through his loose bun while the other traced calming circles down his back.

“Just a bad dream,” he whispered, tugging her tighter and nestling his head into the crook of her neck. “Can I stay here for a little longer?”

His mind spun like sugar, cotton candy of poisonous thoughts.

Pidge patted his head. “Just for a minute, okay?” Her voice was a calming whisper as Keith nodded against her neck. He hummed Lance’s lullaby to himself after Pidge pried herself from his body and tucked herself into his makeshift bed.

Lance woke for the next shift before Keith could wake Hunk. Keith continued to hum, fingers tapping on the shotgun, remembering the way the muzzle had tasted ashy in his mouth with the strong spice of sulfur. His eyes never left the tree line, unable to look as the blue paladin shifted on his bedroll, wiping the tiredness from his eyes.

“I didn’t know you knew that song,” Lance mumbled, taking the shotgun and settling in Keith’s spot.

Keith nodded before he huddled in Lance’s bedroll, the familiar scent of him rolling off the sheets like his nights in the castle when this hell began. “It’s one of my favorites.”

  


**~~~~**

  


About half an hour before they reached the sight of the ambush Keith stopped the team. “There’s an ambush of scavengers ahead.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Keith, now you’re just being paranoid.”

“I was right about the horde,” he snapped, watching Lance withdraw from him, wincing.

Keith shook off the immediate guilt that constricted his ribs. If he had to be a villain to keep Lance safe, he would become one easily.

Pidge eyed Keith warily before pulling out the map, better to be paranoid than to be defenseless. She unfolded it with a snap. “It’ll be too difficult to go off the path.” She eyed him over the top of the map, “Can we establish a signal for when you think the attack will happen?”

Keith sighed. He honestly wanted to avoid the situation altogether, wanted to erase even the slightest possibility of it from the future.

“Maybe the signal should be Keith reciting the beginning of Twilight,” Hunk snickered. And Keith had to remind himself that that night by the fire, the small jokes and the sense of family had been in his timeline, dragging the memory through the sludge of repeated days to recall.

“I don’t remember Twilight that well.” Keith rolled his eyes.

Lance’s grin was mischievous, as he elbowed Keith lightly. “So you finally admit to reading it.”

Pidge motioned to Shiro so that she could whisper in his ear, a very poor attempt at a whisper. “Ten granola bars Keith doesn’t actually know the first line.”

“You’ve got a deal.” Shiro shook Pidge’s hand in agreement. Keith rolled his eyes, attempting to avoid Shiro’s pointed gaze. “Keith,” And Shiro’s tone was the one that made Keith’s skin crawl, the mentor that coached with a firm hand, the fatherly figure that demanded answers.

Keith planted his hands on his hips. “I’d never given much thought to how I would die,” Lance was muffling cackles of laughter behind his hand, “Though I’d had reason enough in the last few months,” Pidge’s smile was so wide it looked like it would split her face, “But even if I had, I wouldn’t have imagined it like this. Or something like that.” Keith grumbled, feeling blush dance across his face.

“That’s our cue,” Pidge determined and began marching forward, ignoring the groan from Keith.

They marched forward, and Keith walked in the front, an unusual position for them. He scanned the trees, wary for any sign of the scavengers, because all the trees looked familiar in this forest that grew so close to the highway.

The scrape of feet against bark.

“I’d never given much thought --” Keith began, but he was cut off by the scattered thuds of scavengers dropping from the treetops. Last time Shiro had attempted to negotiate with their snarling, blood-painted faces, but Keith charged forward, slicing his crowbar across a girl’s neck. She sunk to the ground, dropping her bone sword.

Without thought, Keith picked it up, wielding it with an ease that terrified him.

With a ferocity he didn’t know he was capable of, Keith severed muscle and slit throats, relishing in their last gurgled cries. He fought the memories of Pidge, glossy eyed and dead on that table, splayed open and pulled apart. Or Shiro, limp, blood spilling in the dirt. Or the meat that dangled from dirt-caked fingernails.

Keith huffed a relaxed sigh, surrounded by the corpses of scavengers. Some of the constant anxiety left his muscles as he dropped the bone sword back to the ground, the deftness of the weapon strange in his hands.

Yanking an arrow from the neck of the scavenger closest to him, Keith handed it to Lance without another word. Pidge looked a little taken back, baseball bat pristine. Keith and Lance had taken care of the majority of their forces.

“I’ve never seen you fight like that,” Shiro commented, brow furrowed with concern.

Keith shrugged, smiling slightly at his first bought of success in this fucked up world. “Maybe I was just channeling Edward Cullen.”

Pidge snorted, and Lance smiled so wide Keith thought they were curled in their window of the castle learning Spanish or talking about Lance’s family. The blue paladin bumped their shoulders together in a spark of warmth, whispering, “Show off.”

Keith bent his neck, hiding the rising blush on his cheeks and the horror that danced in his eyes.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pidge hugs, Twilight references, and Victory! What a #Angst and Fluff chapter haha
> 
> Please thank my wonderful beta, Seldx (who leaves the funniest comments btw) for convincing me to keep the fun (and somehow very topical) Twilight references!!
> 
> _Summary: Pidge and Shiro refuse to eat the human meat offered to them and are killed._
> 
> Thank you all so much for your wonderful comments!! (♡°▽°♡) they seriously make my day!!
> 
> Oh and for all those worried about be giving up on this fic -- fret not!! I'm way too invested and in love with this story to stop any time soon haha Thank you all for your amazing words of support <3
> 
> You can also come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)! I also post fun and cute Voltron stuff °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°


	39. Intermission: A Call To Arms, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween (ﾉ>ω<)ﾉ :｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

Red was fast, soaring through all the Galra ships with a fierce determination that Lance echoed, a remnant of rage that sung through his blood. Whenever his determination wavered, he seemed to see the flash of Keith’s face, trapped behind the hazy glass of the cryopod, that taunting, peaceful smile.

With a shout, he pushed forward and gleefully sliced fighters jets in half, revelling in their explosions. So desperate to cause the same kind of loss and hurt in the Galra empire.

But forming Voltron was still clumsy, their connection still weak as the force of Allura’s acceptance and belief in their success was almost blinding in his mind.

But they succeeded. They were a force to be reckoned with. They were here to signal the end of the Galra empire.

  


**~~~~**

  


Kolivan stood in the frame of the holoscreen that took up the majority of the command center. Lance lounged in his new chair, the right hand of Voltron, as he picked at his nails, fury still unsated in his blood -- as if he needed to go to the training deck for hours until there was nothing left but fatigued muscles and empty thoughts.

He smirked at the thought, remembering how he thought Keith was crazy for training immediately after battles, still dressed in his armor and snarling as he stabbed through the gladiator. Maybe Red was having some effect on him, and she purred in the back of his mind with amusement.

“Our recent intel tells us that Haggar is supporting someone for the Galra throne,” Kolivan began, broad shoulders not even appearing on the projector. Allura stood tall, listening to him in her elegant dress, strands of her hair still a mess from the paladin helmet. “It is one of Zarkon’s famous war generals, Commander Sendak.”

Everyone froze at the name that haunted their memories.

A flare of heat seared up Lance’s back, the casual seat in his chair become stiff as he turned and stood, too anxious to be relaxed any longer.

His gaze jumped to Shiro, who stood with tensed shoulders and a small whine could be heard from his Galra-given hand as his fingers curled against his palm. Over Shiro’s shoulder, Lance met Hunk’s cautious gaze, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed.

“Sendak,” Shiro spoke, forcing his hands to relax before he crossed them against his chest. “Does he even have support?”

“Why are we worrying about this anyway?” Allura sighed, running her fingers through her hair. “Does it not make more sense to eliminate the Empire and allow all the planets to rule themselves?”

If possible, Kolivan’s expression turned even more serious, a steel glint in his gunmetal gaze. “If we destabilize the Empire to the point of failure, many lives will be lost. We sermize that placing a trustworthy leader on the throne might be able to bring the Empire to a time of peace while supporting those planets that require a closer --”

“You’re saying that we should support the Galra Empire?” Allura gasped, shaking her head and placing her hands on her hips. But before she could continue, Shiro stepped forward slightly.

“Would you place yourself on the throne, Kolivan?” Shiro asked, raising one brow. “If we’re going to support the continuation of the Galra empire, we need to trust the leader.” Smiling weakly, he nodded, referring to the genuine rapport the team had developed with the leader of the Blade of Mamora.

Kolivan was a trustworthy man with a defined set of morals and a following that would support his claim to the throne.

“Unfortunately we believe that placing a Blade member on the throne would cause pandemonium for those factions that are still loyal to the empire. Additionally, a majority of the remaining people are part of these loyal factions.” Clearing his throat, Kolivan straightened himself, narrowing his gaze specifically at the Princess. “We were hoping that this would be a call to arms for Voltron as you supported our candidate.”

“Who’s that?” Pidge asked, glasses sliding low on her nose and fingers posed over the keyboard.

“Prince Lotor.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Bring Me Priced Lotion!" haha
> 
> It's been a lot of fun writing what would have happened to the Galra Empire if Zarkon really did die at the end of season two, and I hope you've been enjoying it too!!
> 
> Thank you all so much for the wonderful support with your kudos and comments (≧◡≦) ♡
> 
> You can also come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!


	40. As Many Times As You Need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zombies, to spookily your Halloween night!!
> 
> _small warning for this chapter_  
>  there is a mention of the "kiss" from several chapters ago, that good old cannibalism/vore - and if you want to skip over the semi-detailed paragraph of it, stop reading at "Keith pulled back from Lance" and start reading at the beginning of the next paragraph at "His hands fell to his lap."
> 
> Enjoy!! ♡ (⇀ 3 ↼)

It was not an easy journey to Coran and Allura and the prison that had seemed like a distant hope at the beginning of this journey. They continually encountered a handful of zombies even beyond the Atlanta's city limits, thirsty and even more ravenous than the horde that had devoured them day after day.

By the end of the day, they would be at the prison and Keith could only assume that he’d be free from this hell.

Without warning a small group of zombies charged at them with clacking teeth and foaming drool on their lips. Their arms hung low as they practically sprinted on all fours from the trees in the forest or the cars on the highway. They cried out, more animalistic than any other Keith had heard.

Maybe it was the thirst for survival or the flaming desperation, but Keith jumped forward before his friends. He slashed his crowbar through the top of one zombie’s head, determined to keep the small group away from his teammates. But they darted around him, sprinting towards the rotters with silent snarls and weapons gribbed in trembling hands.

Blood splattered across his face, freckling his skin as he decapitated a zombie. Another immediately followed, dragging jagged fingernails down his arms as it sunk its teeth into his shoulder. With a snarl, Keith shoved the crowbar into the fragile space between the first two vertebrae. He pried the zombie off his body while tearing its head from its body.

Slumping backward, he gripped at his shoulder, crowbar still clenched tightly in his hand. It pressed against the wound on his left shoulder, but he would be damned if he let it go.

The group made quick work of the rest of the zombies. Pidge wiped a hand on her pants before she noticed the state Keith was in. “Keith!” She ran to his side, bat still tightly gripped in one hand, “One bit you?”

He nodded, pulling back his hand so that she could see the gashes its teeth had caused in his skin and clothing. The bleeding was beginning to slow, the zombie’s teeth more blunt than he had expected.

With each pound of his heart, the wound ached.

Shiro quickly grabbed some kindling to light a fire. Hunk gathered larger logs in order to stoke the flames to a temperature hot enough to cauterize Keith’s wound.

“Don’t bother,” Keith sighed, gaze finding Lance’s. The bow trembled in his hands, and Keith could see the way memories played in his eyes. Everyone had lost someone to this plague, and Keith wondered who Lance was comparing him to. He licked his lips, waiting for the clawing hunger to puncture holes in his stomach. “Just kill me.”

“What?” Lance snarled, dropped his bow as he stepped forward and grabbed the front of Keith’s shirt. “What the fuck did you just say?”

Keith met Lance’s gaze, watching the way the stormy ocean writhed.

“Just kill me.” His voice was a mere whisper but forceful enough that Lance shivered, hands trembling against Keith’s chest.

“Like hell!” Lance pushed Keith away, causing him to stumble backward. His wound ached, and he grabbed it with limp fingers. “We can’t just kill you while you’re still human. We aren’t fucking scavengers. Right, Pidge?!”

She looked over Keith, at the blood slowly seeping into his clothes, at the defeat in his eyes. She opened her mouth, but closed it again, thinking. When she finally spoke, there was the small crackle of fire to accompany her, “We can’t afford to decrease our patrols so close to the prison. We’ll be there by the end of the day.”

Keith didn’t need to look to at the sun that hadn’t yet peaked in the sky to know that he wouldn’t make it that long.

“I could hurt you,” he whispered, unable to look at Lance’s face and at the way his lips pulled into a determined frown.

Blood and ash settled on his tongue like the distant taste of dreams.

The team didn’t meet his eyes. It was as if they couldn’t contemplate killing him, couldn’t watch the way the life would fade from his yellowing eyes. As if the decision to kill them had been any easier for him while he stood on top of the cars and watched zombies claw at their skin.

Shiro pulled a dagger from his boot, putting it in the crackling flames and watching the metal turn a glowing orange. Hunk walked away from the fire, yanking Keith’s hand away from the bite and tearing at the fabric to expose marred flesh. The yellow paladin didn’t bother to clean the wound, because the plague would take him before infection could.

Keith closed his eyes and heard the hiss of burning flesh before he felt the singe of pain over numbing flesh. But he didn’t whimper, too accustomed to the pain of this body to care anymore.

Hunk dressed his wound with a clean t-shirt while Shiro stomped out the fire. Lance kept watch, bow taught in trembling fingers. Pidge looked at the map and attempted to sneak glances at Keith.

Patting Keith lightly on the arm, Hunk commented, “You’re good as new.” Smile forced as he stepped backward from Keith, never turning his back to him. No one had their backs to him, and it was obvious in the stiffness of their shoulders and the grit to their jaws that they weren’t letting their guards down around him.

Good.

“Keith, you’ll be running point with Shiro,” Pidge announced, folding up the map and shoving it into her pocket.

He wanted to scream. Wanted to tell them how he already knew what the mauling hunger felt like, and that he would have no self control once the touch of death traveled from his shoulder to his mind, warping it for purposes of unknown evil.

But a part of him just wanted to make it to the prison, hoping it would be his final resting point in this sick and twisted world. So he fell into step, reaching to touch his wound and waiting to find the skin cold and unfeeling.

  


**~~~~**

  


The prison loomed before them. White walls were barely visible over the metal gate that ran around the compound. This was the second gate of the prison. The first had been taller with barbed wire lining the top. A guard station with automatic doors for cars had allowed them through when Pidge fiddled with the wiring. They watched through the window as the gates swung open.

When the rest of the team had stepped past the gates, Keith hesitated. Looking to the sky, the sun was about to brush the horizon. It had been longer than five hours. He gazed at his reflection in a dirt stained window, searching for hints of yellow in his sclera. There was nothing, and when Pidge called his name and motioned him through the gates, he followed.

The second fence seemed to hum with electricity, which was absurd thinking about this place so far off the grid still running electricity. But they could hear the high-pitched hum.

Pidge cupped her hands, “Allura! Coran!” They waited, and she called again. All eyes fixated on the several sets of doors on the white walls of the prison. Pidge grumbled as she fished around in her backpack for the small radio her and Coran used to communicate.

She was just about to press the button when Allura burst through the door. Her hair was sheared off close to her head, a small bob tickling the bottoms of her ears. “You all made it!” Her smile was wide and all consuming, and Keith wanted to cry.

He had finally brought Lance and the entire team to safety.

And at the thought of safety, his knees gave out, landing in the soft grass around the compound. His team jumped back, Pidge hoisting the bat over her shoulder. But Keith couldn’t stop the tears from falling, head tipped back and sobs ripping from his throat. He could finally leave this god forsaken dimension.

Oh Jowangshin, he wanted to leave so badly. He reached out for her calming presence only to be greeted with emptiness. Again.

“What’s happened?” Allura ran up to the fence, careful not to touch it. “Is he injured?”

“He was bitten before noon.” Pidge ground out, and Keith could feel the way she analyzed his expression, tracked every flicker of his eyes.

“Shouldn’t he have --”

“Yes!” Pidge shouted, choking up on the bat.

Allura took a step closer to the hum of the fence, “This is extraordinary. Please, please follow me.”

Keith was ushered inside with fleeting touches that were so careful not to linger, and he was thrust into a plush chair in the prison’s small medical office. Several machines were operating as Allura switched them on. Shiro stood at Keith’s shoulder with one hand on a hammer at his waist, watching him with haunted eyes.

Coran stood outside the room and explained to Pidge and Hunk how there was still electricity in the building: they had converted some old generators and hoped that Pidge and Hunk could construct solar panels from some scraps they had gathered. They nodded along as Coran stroked his beard.

Lance lounged on the only cot in the room, feet propped up and looking perfectly at peace except for the way his fingers twitched as if still longing to hold his bow even in this fortress.

Keith didn’t pay attention as Allura took his vitals, examined his wound, and drew his blood. He was focused on his body, waiting for the all too familiar sensations to start -- the numbness to his fingertips and the hunger that consumed him from within. His eyes traced the length of Lance’s legs, the sweet movement of his lips, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest. All he felt was _want_.

“Are you sure you were bitten, Keith.” Allura’s voice was steady as she held up a small piece of paper, hot from being freshly printed from a machine she had run.

Keith rolled his eyes, “Yes. I think I would remember a zombie sinking its teeth into my shoulder.”

Allura turned around, holding up the paper and waving it like a white flag in the midst of battle. “Do you know what this means?” she giggled, turning to everyone in the room. Coran, Pidge, and Hunk paused their conversation, stepping into the room at the sound of Allura’s outburst.

She thrust the paper into Coran’s hands. “The ancients,” he muttered.

“This could change everything. This could change the world!”

“What’s going on?” Lance sat up on the bed, confusion furrowing his brow.

“Keith doesn’t have the plague.” Coran pointed to the charts, like anyone but him and Allura could understand the medical jargon.

“How’s that --,” Pidge swallowed, “possible?” She glanced from Keith to the paper in Coran’s hand.

Keith sat frozen, a single finger coming up to brush over his wound. A part of him sang, claimed that there had been a reason for all of his failures. That when he had kissed Lance, there had been a reason behind it. That when he’d starved and feasted, there had been a reason.

If he could save Lance, his team, and possibly the entire world, he would start this journey over again.

His chin trembled and he bit his lip to attempt to quell is feelings. “It was all worth it?”

Coran nodded, not that he knew the significance of his affirmation. “It seems that you’ve developed antibodies that fight off the plague. If we can extract those, we can possibly make a cure for the disease.”

“So Keith won’t turn?” Lance asked, looking at Keith’s wounded shoulder with an unreadable expression.

“Correct, my boy!” Coran pointed a finger at Lance while handing the paper back to Allura.

Keith watched hope ignite in their eyes, and the way each of his team members looked at him with a new reverence. He clenched his hands, trying not to think of the flickers in his mind that showed him the way they looked at him before. Lance aversion to Keith’s drooling lips and hunger for human flesh. Shiro’s thankful gaze when Keith had slit his throat. Pidge’s horror when she had bashed in his skull with her nailed bat. Hunk’s desolate thankfulness, looking to the clouds, speaking calmly while Keith was set to die.

There was feather light touch on his uninjured shoulder, drawing him out of his thoughts. Shiro smiled slightly. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Keith breathed. “It’s just a lot to take in.” He rose from the chair on unsteady legs. “Do you mind if I go to bed? I’m honestly exhausted.” And he didn’t know how to explain that the thought of leaving this world was such an anxious excitement, it tingled in his fingers.

Allura nodded and led them all to several rooms that were converted cells. Instead of barred doors, there were decorative curtains sewn from disassembled orange jumpsuits. Some of the cells were still barred, while many were open like they were just waiting for prisoners to step inside. It was a last resort protection in case zombies broke through the first two barricades and overran the prison, because it was better to die by your own hand than at the snapping teeth of the walking corpses.

Keith claimed the closest room, shucking off his boots and laying down on the bed. His eyelids were heavy that not even the rough blankets or the squealing mattress beneath him was enough to deter him from sleep.

“Keith,” Lance’s voice roused him before he could fully drift off, before he could leave.

Lance stood at the entrance to Keith’s new bedroom, holding the curtain aside and shifting his weight between his feet. He was dressed in new clothes, a pair of low hanging, orange sweatpants and an oatmeal colored t-shirt. The colors washed out his caramel skin, but Keith had never seen this Lance look more vibrant. “Can I come in?”

The red paladin sat up on the bed, muscles complaining at each movement. Rubbing at his tired eyes and feeling a twinge of pain in his injured shoulder, he waved Lance in. Lance sat on the edge of Keith’s bed, their thighs almost brushing.

Lance threaded his fingers together, resting his elbows on his knees like he was struggling to breathe. “I know I’ve been really distant lately.” Keith shifted, muscles clenching at the thought of Lance over these passing days and nuances of each world that he never quite grasped.

“But you have to know by now.” Lance turned his gaze to meet Keith’s eyes.

Keith shook his head, because he didn’t know. He didn’t understand what Lance was implying with the tender look to his eyes and the tentative smile on his lips.

Lance unwound his hands and grabbed Keith’s jaw with gentle, heated fingers. His breath caught in his chest, memorizing the warmth of Lance’s palm against his cheek. He wanted to brand the feeling into his mind, a token to take with him through each dimension, something to suppress the last time Lance had touched Keith like this.

But he couldn’t close his eyes, he couldn’t lean into this touch, couldn’t let himself lose control when Lance’s breath dusted over his lips.

“You have to know how much I love you,” Lance whispered, leaning towards Keith. His other hand wound around Keith’s hip, pulling their thighs closer together, bodies straining from their seated positions to touch.

The kiss was tender. A soft brush against Keith’s trembling lips. A fragment of the memories threatened to overwhelm him and color his taste buds. His hands rested on Lance’s shoulders, traveling up his neck and winding into the tufts of hair on Lance’s neck. The soft stubble of Lance’s jaw brushed his chin and made his hands dig in tighter. But his fingers slid back down Lance’s arms at the thought of holding Lance down and the echoes of his distant screams.

Lance pulled back slightly enough to give them room to breathe. Eyes closed and foreheads touching. He wanted to say say a million things, lean into his touch and forget the days that hadn’t counted, that hadn’t been real.

Keith whispered, “I’ll always protect you.”

The blue paladin’s fingers tightened on Keith’s skin, stiffening in response to his words. And Keith knew that they weren’t the words Lance wanted to hear, nor were they the words that Keith wanted to say.

He didn’t know when his feelings began. When these feelings settled into the lining of his heart like an invasive species, twinning along his ribs and searing down his blood vessels. Was it when he sat in the windows of the ship and listened to Lance’s wonderful stories and how his expressive personality drew Keith from the depression that had injected cement into the marrow of his bones? Was it when Lance cried in the hallway and said he loved Keith before he watched Nyma casually poison Lance again? Was it when he had kissed Keith, thinking he had known the risks, thinking he could trust Keith to fight his animalistic instincts?

Keith pulled back from Lance, bile boiling in his stomach. Memories exhumed themselves without his consent, mauling and consuming. The taste of Lance permeated the sweet feeling of kisses on his flesh and the gentle caress of fingers on his skin. The screams and flapping flesh and pinning Lance to the soft dirt as his strength weakened and weakened.

His hands fell to his lap. His eyes dropped to the floor, unable to look at the flush on Lance’s cheeks. Unaware if the roil of his stomach was an echo of hunger or revulsion at the memories that saturated his tongue.

“Keith --”

“Can you say it again tomorrow?” Keith’s voice was ragged, shoulders slumping.

Lance rose to his feet, a gentle hand pressing to Keith’s shoulder, “I’ll say I love you as many times as you need to hear it.” He knelt before Keith, hand tilting his chin up so that their eyes met. “I love you, Keith.”

Keith nodded, biting his lip and fighting the tears. “Thank you, Lance. Thank you.” Lance giggled slightly, ruffling Keith’s hair.

“Need anything else?”

“No,” Keith wheezed, missing Lance’s touch the minute he pulled away and strode to the curtain door. “Just some rest.”

“Sweet dreams,” Lance winked, and let the curtain flutter closed.

Keith laid down on the squeaky mattress and pulled the scratchy blanket up to his chin. He sighed, all tension in his body relaxing. He reached out for Jowangshin, attempting to ignore the bubbling nausea in his stomach.

But there was nothing.

He could only hope that _this_ Keith would return and love _this_ Lance in a way that he couldn’t. That _this_ Keith wouldn’t be haunted by the taste of Lance or of blood and flesh or the purpose he’d been spirited away from his dimension for.

So he closed his eyes, and dreamed of other worlds.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The zombies have finally ended!! How fitting for Halloween night ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊˚ haha
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this arc and that you enjoy what else is to come with this fic <3
> 
> Major shout out to my beta, Seldx, who helps me not write shitty haha
> 
> Thank you all so much for your continued support and love of this fic, because honestly all of your comments and kudos mean the absolute world to me!!
> 
> You can also come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!! Happy Halloween!! <3


	41. Intermission: A Call To Arms, Part 2

Kolivan’s voice was blaring through the speakers of the command center, face stern and arms crossed on the large projection. Standing before them all, Allura shook her head slightly, long hair ghosting over the zipper of her dress.

“I don’t understand,” she breathed.

“Zarkon’s son, Prince Lotor, is finally making his claim for the throne,” Kolivan repeated, voice terse as he narrowed his gaze. “The Kral Zera is finally upon us, and it seems that Lotor might have a strong following.”

Shiro stepped forward, taking his place beside Allura and placing a comforting hand on her back. “I still don’t understand why this is a call to arms for us, Kolivan. Are you suggesting we attack the Kral Zera --”

“No way would we survive that,” Pidge commented, looking down at the screens in front of her chair. The information seemed to whisk by, reflecting off the sheen of her glasses. “Everything I’m reading here says that they bring a majority of their armada, even if they leave them hovering above the planet.”

Hunk coughed, raising a hand in the air and rubbing at the back of his neck with the other. “I’m with Pidge on this one. We’re still too,” and he fumbled for the word, lips scowling with the memory of Keith and all of their struggles to reform Voltron.

“I’m not suggesting that Voltron attack the Kral Zera or even to kill those vying for leadership,” Kolvian began, cutting off Hunk with a clipped sigh. “Based on our intelligence, it appears that Lotor may be a viable candidate.”

Silence settled around the room as the team took a moment to comprehend what Kolivan was implying, what the Blades were planning for.

Allura’s harsh laugh shattered the tense silence. Her features were contorted into a disbelieving scowl, lips curled and eyes narrowed. There was a tension to her shoulders, a coiled strength to her muscles that put Lance on edge.

“You want us to support Zarkon’s son for the throne of the Galra empire,” Allura stated, but the question that rang in her tone was deadly serious.

Kolivan tilted his head to the side slightly as if examining Allura’s response, gaging the volatility of her reaction. “He appears to want a peaceful empire. Our scouts --”

“Peace?” Allura choked out, and Lance watched the way Shiro’s hand clenched against the princess’s back, fingers pulling at the fabric of her armor. “Zarkon’s son wants peace? That is hilarious.” Her tone was mocking and the stiffness to her shoulders only increased.

To lighten the dark mood that settled in the room, Lance cocked his hip and pointed at the leader of the Blades. “Have you been practicing that dry Galran humor, Kolivan?”

But Kolivan didn’t respond, and Shiro shot a discouraging glance over his shoulder. With a huff, Lance slumped his shoulders and crossed his arms.

Another Blade member stepped up beside Kolivan, mask still in place. He was shorter, barely reaching their leader’s shoulder, but there was a berth to his shoulders that belied his power. His voice was metallic as it sounded through the projection, “Pardon me, Princess, but our strategists believe that the best way to conserve the rest of the Galra Empire is to place a figure on the throne who believes in change. We fear that with no Emperor, a quarter of the universe will destabilize.”

“War. Famine. Death,” Kolivan added, eyes narrowing on the stubborn scowl on Allura’s features.

“Yes, exactly. Whereas with a trustworthy ruler we could --”

“So you’re assuming Lotor is trustworthy with the rumors you’ve gathered?” Allura countered, but there was a reluctant set to her shoulders.

Kolivan cleared his throat. “It is in our best interest --”

“You may support Lotor’s claim for the throne, Kolivan,” Allura began, stepping forward and out of Shiro’s grasp. “We will still be allies. However, we cannot take Voltron away from the liberated people who need our guidance, only to place a risky bet on the son of a warmonger.”

Allura nods to Coran who cancels the feed in the middle of a metallic shout, “But Princess A--”

Huffing a sigh, Allura turns to face them, shoulders relaxed and a forced smile on her features. “I apologize if you were hoping to follow Kolivan’s plans. I cannot condone such foolhardy tactics. Not with the universe at stake.”

Before anyone could say anything else or wrap their minds around what just happened, the princess nodded to them and exited the room.

Lance worried his bottom lip, gaze tracing her path as a seed of doubt grows warm in his chest.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Lotor be good or bad or the wonderful morally-grey prince he is in cannon in this fic? I wonder (¬‿¬ )
> 
> A huge shout out to my beta <3 and to everyone who leaves comments and messages for me, I literally cannot express how much your comments make my day (≧◡≦) ♡
> 
> You can also come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!


	42. Part of Your New World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy, y'all!!
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this arc, because I'm honestly soooo nervous to post this chapter (⊙_⊙)
> 
> but I hope you enjoy ~~

It was lulling, the calming drift around him, swaying him gently in and out of sleep. He nuzzled his head into his soft pillow, exhaling bubbles of exhaustion.

“Think we can draw on his tail?”

“Real mature, Lance.”

Keith groaned, ignoring the voices while longing to go back to that thick, dreamless sleep. They echoed around him at a high frequency, making his ears ache. He felt them twitch and plaster against his skull, fin-like tips fluttering.

“Well, we had plans to meet thirty doboshes ago!” Lance huffed, and Keith finally sat up in bed.

Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he looked at Lance and Hunk who floated in his doorway. Lance was leaning over his bed, blue eyes glittering and pointed nails poised to shake Keith awake. Iridescent blue scales danced across his cheeks and collarbones.

Keith recoiled, feeling the water drift across his gills.

Gills.

He gazed down at a tail as red as blood, splaying out against a cultivated bed of sea sponges. His hands came up to his neck, feeling the way thin skin flayed out to suck in water with each breath. He fought a scream, panic making his fins spasm.

Fins.

Lance backed up as Hunk wrapped a protective arm around the blue-finned mermaid’s waist, pulling him tight to his broad chest. Keith clawed against the wall, pinning himself against it for stability in the softly shifting water. His long fingernails scraped against rock, desperate for purchase. Breathing rapidly, almost scalding down his throat. He watched the way his tail flicked, a feeling so unnatural it made his fingers curl.

He closed his eyes and tried to reign in the panic, slowly picturing himself with legs, imaging that each breath was air, cooling the back of his throat and wheezing through his nose. Anything to calm the racing of his heart that he thought would break through his ribs and beat out of his chest.

Suddenly, the sensation of a tail disappeared and his bare feet bounced off the spongy bed.

Pressure pulsed against his skull, making his eyes sting and swim as he sought out Lance and Hunk. Desperate hands clawed at his throat, fighting for air, air he no longer breathed through paper-thin gills at his neck.

A high whistle vibrated through the water.

Keith clawed at the rock with softened, blunt nails. The burn intensified in his lungs. Desperate, clawing, and searing through every soft tissue protected within his ribs. His heart pounded in his ears. Darkness consumed the edges of his vision. He felt his muscles contract, seeking out air, fighting against his sealed lips.

Piercing pain raced up his arms as Lance grabbed at him with sharpened nails and trembling hands. He cried out the last of his air. His inhale was instinctual. Choking and desperate for the oxygen that was fathoms above. Salty water singed the back of his throat, sloshing in his lungs.

Agony.

A failed cough. Only more water. Stuttering pain across his arms. A slap of pain across his cheeks.

And like instinct, his tail reappeared, flapping and frantic and pushing Lance away.

Keith collapsed against the wall, hands trailing over his gills and relishing in the large gasps of refreshing air he inhaled. Pins and needles tingled along the tips of his fins and his fingers. Digging his trembling nails into the stone of the cavern, his vision finally stabilized.

“What the quiznack is wrong with you?” Lance screeched, making even the coral shiver. “Why would you Turn underwater?!”

Hunk held Lance back with a thick arm, twining his golden tail around Lance’s lithe figure. His dorsal fin was broad and stocky as it traveled down the length of his tail. His fins were made for strength whereas Lance’s were practically transparent at the ends, like a dusting of sea foam. Beautiful.

Lance’s gills were flared and his pointed teeth were bared. “If you’re so suicidal just ask the Galra to snatch you up!”

“Lance,” Hunk whistled a low warning.

Keith sagged against his bed, relishing in the feeling of his fins. It was almost like the feeling of magic singing through his veins and the calming voice of Jowangshin in his head or the comfortable weight of the crowbar in his hand; the fins felt natural under the spark of familiarity. The portion of his scales that were embedded into his skin were black, whereas the tips almost glittered a bloody red in the bioluminescent light from algae lining the walls. His fins were striking, thin and sharp meant for agility and cutting through the water.

“Sorry,” Keith breathed, fisting his hands in his hair. It flowed through his fingers naturally, long and threatening to catch on the scales that decorated his shoulders. “Sorry, I just had a nightmare.”

This seemed to placate Lance enough for Hunk to let him go. Lance flicked his fins at his best friend and hissed at Keith.

“Allura assigned us as scouts today, and now thanks to someone,” Lance’s eyes darted to Keith before he went back to pretending to pick something out from under his nails, “We don’t have time for breakfast.”

Hunk brushed a gentle hand over Lance’s lower back, with fingers almost too comfortable, guiding Lance out of the room. Keith flicked his tail, still growing accustomed to the feeling like he was regaining sensation in a limb that was numb from lack of use. With a sharp flick, he left his small cavern.

The saltiness of the sea stung against his gills as he watched Lance laugh, flipping upside down and swimming just underneath Hunk. He pushed a loose strand of hair back into Hunk’s braided, seaweed headband. Fins thin as sea foam lightly brushed Hunk’s broad tail. It felt almost too intimate to watch. Keith ducked his head and propelled himself forward.

For a moment, he enjoyed the feeling of the sea against his gills, the strong flip of his tail, and the way the water seemed to part for him. It was a freedom not unlike piloting Red. He instinctively reached out for her, waiting for her to be purring on the outskirts of his mind, but there was nothing.

No Red. No Jowangshin. Nothing.

His swimming paused, pointed nails digging into the tender skin of his palms.

The city was at his back, radiating heat and quiet noise drifting on currents, while the open ocean stood before him. The sunlight that filtered through the waters was distorted and faint, fathoms below the surface. Their eyes were sensitive enough that Keith caught a glimmer of green by a rock formation. He squinted, raising an eyebrow at the familiarity that tingled down his arms.

Suddenly, Lance’s tail fin, slapped him across the face.

Keith sputtered, swiping his hand at the slick transparent cartilage that danced before his eyes. Lance snapped his pointed teeth, hiding a smile in the curl of his lips. Hunk rolled his eyes, ruffling Lance’s dorsal fin with a sharp current of water. The blue mermaid stuck his tongue out in response, before flitting along the unmarked barrier of the city.

Lance sank and trailed a tip of his fin into the sand, lazily drawing while attempting to scout.

“Working really hard there, Lance,” Keith quipped, crossing his arms and feeling the scales that dotted up his spine pull at his skin.

“Is that Pidge?” Lance asked, ignoring Keith’s jab. The blue-finned mermaid turned his head at an odd angle as his eyes traced a line of bubbles drifting towards the surface and a flash of green.

The ocean felt startlingly cold against the thin skin of his gills.

With a swift flick of his almost transparent fins, Lance propelled through the water before Keith could even attempt to grab his arm. And without a heartbeat of hesitation, Hunk followed. Both of their postures were relaxed as Keith trailed after them, eyes tracing the soft reflections of the surface.

Paranoia embedded itself alongside his scales. He licked his lips, a habit useless in this large body of water.

They rounded a large rock structure, porous and covered in colorful corals and fish that scuttled back into their caves. Lance paused at the edge, nails digging into the rock as his tail swished back and forth almost contemplatively, like a playful cat watching its prey before pouncing. Hunk traced fingers along Lance’s dorsal fin before coming to a stop next to him, peering ahead into the still water.

Pidge was dangerously close to the surface. The sun reflected off of her green scales, casting multihued reflections onto the undisturbed sand fathoms below her. Her hair was braided and trailing down her spine, tied with a thick piece of seaweed. Loose tendrils of hair like fine spindles of a spider web danced around the braid. Keith could almost make out the sternness of her expression through the shifting water and filtered sunshine. Her green tail was agile with fins so fine that veins shown through like leaves in the light.

She looked around as if searching for something. Or someone. With a small nod, she flicked her tail and propelled herself closer to the surface.

“Pi --” Keith cut off Lance’s call with a trembling hand slapped over those soft lips. His nails dug painfully into Lance’s cheek. Hunk looked at Keith out of the corner of his eye and clicked his tongue. Keith’s dorsal fin straightened like hackles raising at Hunk’s minor warning.

Keith slowly removed his hand, voice low and quiet against the organisms of the rock. “She’s acting secretively.”

“So let's follow her,” Lance announced, with an unfamiliar gleam in his eyes. Normally at times like this Lance was concerned and mildly curious, but his curiosity seemed to overwhelm him. It glittered in his eyes and reflected in the mischievous twist of his lips.

“Lance, this probably isn't the best idea,” Hunk spoke calmly, large hands tensing and eyes looking over Lance’s shoulder to Pidge’s fading trail. He swayed a little closer to Lance, to stop him from moving or as proactive protection.

Lance slapped his tail against Hunk’s shoulder with a glint in his eyes and a teasing smile. “Don't be such a guppy,” Lance purred before swimming towards Pidge.

Hunk sighed and followed him. Keith swam alongside Hunk, eyes trained to Lance’s agile form, waiting for this latent dread in his stomach to ignite.

“He never listens to me, ya’aburnee or not,” Hunk snorted, before flicking his tail and catching up to Lance in three strong strides.

Keith’s gills faltered, sticking to his neck and choking him. The memory of almost drowning like was a strike of lightning through his system, sparking across ligaments and tendons.

Ya’aburnee.

He had seen it. The way the Hunk’s fingers played along Lance’s skin like sunlight on water. The playful glances and smiles Lance had given Hunk. The tenderness and comfort between them that was too soft for the platonic relationship Keith was familiar with.

Keith swallowed water, relishing in the slight burn of the salt water along his throat. He ground his teeth and followed after Lance, always behind him, always watching him. But this time, watching him playfully run his fin against Hunk’s fingers. For the first time, watching him with someone else.

The memories were like a stampede through his mind: the sight of Lance and Hunk under a coral archway, flourishing with bioluminescent life that cast their eyes in inhuman hues and glinted against their wide smiles. The scene is tinted in a rose glow in his mind, and a lightness settled into his heart, a joy at seeing his two friends so blissfully happy. And there’s a lack of the weight against his chest, the hollowness that clawed at his ribs and screamed to be released.

Had this Keith not been in love with this Lance?

Is that how he stood in the crowd and cheered at the end of the ceremony? Is that how he embraced both of his friends with love and compassion as they bound themselves together as ya’aburnee?

_Ya’aburnee. True love. Soulmates._

Is that how this Keith was able to watch his friends without wanting to combust?

  


**~~~~**

  


Initially, Lance was militant at keeping a set distance behind Pidge and hiding the ruffle of his current behind them. But as the time passed and the leagues drifted by, Lance sighed lazily, flipping over to his belly.

“We’re supposed to be on patrol,” Hunk commented, eyes trailing down Lance’s lithe body before snapping up to Pidge’s drifting form. “We shouldn't be this far from the border.”

“Neither should Pidge,” Lance grumbled, eyes rolling as a clear eyelid blinked over his eyes. “What is she even --”

Keith hushed Lance with a sharp swipe of his hand through the water.

Pidge paused a moment before darting to the surface, too close to the looming shadow of a boat.

Before Keith could say anything or even attempt to reign in Lance’s curiosity, Lance shot to the surface. Bubbles danced around his swishing tail. Keith reached out a hand but grasped at nothing as panic clawed at his sore lungs. Like a protective shadow, Hunk followed Lance and Keith followed in turn.

Their eyes peered overtop of the small cresting waves of the ocean. The sun was blistering against Keith’s alabaster skin. His clear eyelid slid over his eyes to protect them from the dry, briny air of the sea winds. His gills were still submersed, lapping up water in his frantically pumping lungs, air bubbling from his nose.

The boat was a black shadow on the horizon. Large puffs of dark steam billowed from chimney pipes. The water level dipped to his shoulders in the wake of a wave and the exhaust stung against his gills. Hissing, he sunk further down below the surface, eyes barely above the waves. The boat gurgled as it trudged forward, dull-purple, metallic hull creating large wakes in its path.

Pidge’s head flicked out of the water before she sunk under and splashed out of the water, performing a delicate dive -- as if to draw the boat purposefully closer, as if she was calling out to them.

“What the quiznack?” Lance breathed, voice quiet above the water, reed thin and unaccustomed to the air’s lack of an echo.

The steam only seemed to pump harder as men shouted, metallic anchor sinking over the side and splashing in the water with the distinct taste of rot against Keith’s lips.

“Where are you, little catfish?” a voice cooed, so familiar it crawled up Keith’s spine with bitter fingers. A man stepped forward to the edge of the boat, black hair tied back and suntanned skin appearing almost purple against the reflection of the deck. His loose white shirt billowed in the sea breeze. One hand was a hook that latched onto the railing of the bow.

Sendak.

The sailor clicked his tongue like calling to a dog. And Keith felt a tight hand clasp his wrist, lithe fingers he would remember anywhere with fingernails that threatened to draw blood from his delicate skin. He wasn’t sure if Lance’s grasp was to hold him back or to steady himself.

Pidge slowly emerged from the water, hair sticking to her back as she rose partially out of the water, chest cresting the waves. Sendak smiled, all teeth and hunger.

“There's my little catfish,” he purred, leaning over the railing.

Lance’s gasp was almost inaudible over the soft splash of waves against Keith’s ears. His grip tightened on Keith’s wrist before he pushed forward. Keith flipped their grip and dug his nails into the tender flesh of Lance’s inner wrist, preventing him from swimming closer.

“Don't you dare get any closer,” Keith growled, a vibration deep in his aching lungs. Hunk wound his muscled arms around Lance’s slender waist, pinning his ya’aburnee to his muscular chest. “I’ll go.”

With a hiss, Lance raked his nails down Keith’s arm as a failed attempt to keep them together. Blood that tasted like sulfur drifted from the scratches, burning in this briny water. He sunk deeply in below the waves, avoiding the patches of sunlight. He smacked his lips and was tempted to seal his gills against the taste of the metallic boat that bobbed in their waters.

Pidge’s tail swished impatiently in the water. Her words words were a half echo in the water, garbled and water-logged, “I have what you want, Sendak. Do we still have a deal?”

Keith swam close to the hull of the boat, rising alongside the metal. It brushed his fins as he broke through the surface. Sendak’s laugh sent shivers down his spine as he pressed more tightly against the boat, hiding in the shadow.

“Show me.” And Keith could positively taste the greed in Sendak’s voice.

Pidge grabbed a seaweed-braided bag with small shells embedded in the strap. She pulled it from her waist and held it above water. Dipping a finger in, she held it up to the fading rays of sunlight. Her entire finger up to the first knuckle glittered golden in the sun.

Keith gasped, inhaling water through his mouth that settled in his lungs before quickly converting with a couple coughs out of his gills. His mind ached with the significance of familiarity. Like an echo of Jowangshin’s voice, _quintessence_.

Sendak’s nostrils flared like he could smell it’s enticing scent on the wind.

Keith’s fingers twitched as Pidge closed the bag and shoved it back underwater at her hip. She didn’t attempt to submerge the finger, “Do we still have a deal, Sendak?” She growled, more force in her voice than before.

His hook squealed against the metal of the ship’s railing. “You have little to wager, little catfish,” He clucked, motioning with a nod of his chin. There was the sound of chains clanking against the metal of the deck.

The impact shook the water before Keith heard the high pitched whistle. Pidge’s squeak of fear resonated with the taste of sulfur against Keith’s gills. Sendak laughed as the chains rattled with the grunts of sailors, who pulled the harpoon out of the water. It’s violent edge glittered in the sunlight as the strap of Pidge’s purse was tangled with it. Several jeweled drops of sand like quintessence dropped from its braiding. Sendak plucked it from the end after it was dragged back on board while the harpoon was reloaded in the shotgun barrel.

Sendak smiled to his compatriot who stepped up to the railing.

“I can’t really bargain with purchased merchandise,” Sendak shrugged.

“Where’s my family?” Pidge hissed, voice echoing and reeling, causing several sailors to grasp at aching ears. She slashed at the water with clawed fingernails. “I’ll dump all that quintessence in the ocean, Sendak. Then you’ll never see it or me again. Is that what you want?”

His smile was poisonous as he examined the bag, dangling from between two fingers. “I want so much more than that, little catfish. And the best part is that I can actually get it.”

He tapped the sailor to his right on the shoulder. Pidge dropped beneath the surface, tail glittering in water-drenched patches of sun. Keith keened, high and echoing in the water. His tail flicked, desperate to drag Pidge to the safety of the depths.

The impact of the harpoon shook the water.

A wail of pain made Keith’s tail tense up. The harpoon’s silver head jutted through Lance’s collar bone. His fragile seafoam tail pushed Pidge into Hunk’s still arms.

“Lance,” Hunk breathed, reaching beyond Pidge to Lance’s warm flesh.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Lance whispered before the chains were tightened and he screamed, thrashing around the hold. Blood colored the water like hazy fog. Keith only tasted sulfur as he propelled himself forward, aching for the familiar weight of the crowbar in his right hand.

“Lance!” Hunk growled, tossing Pidge behind him.

Keith brushed a hand along Lance’s forearm in an attempt to catch him, before he was yanked from the water. “Lance!” Keith followed him, hands searching. Lance’s limp body slammed against the hull of the ship. His tail flapped as he seemed to struggle against the formation of his gills. Body aching for breathable air.

Keith’s throat ached at the sight, remembering the pressure and briny death.

Hunk’s cry was desperate, tearing through the water in a high-pitched whine.

Lance flailed again, blood running down the side of the hull and trailing into the water like ink off a saturated page. With a gasp, his legs split, losing all scales. Toes colored a faint blue scratched against the ship. His hands grappled at the harpoon, desperate to pull it from his flesh. But it didn’t stop the grunts of sailors as they dragged Lance aboard.

A cry bellowed through the air, chilling Keith’s blood and making his nails dig into his thin flesh. Hunk screamed, but Keith wrapped a hand halfway around Hunk’s thick wrist.

“My little catfish,” Sendak purred as the same harpoon was reloaded, coated in blood darker than any coral Keith had ever seen. “You not only brought me quintessence, you brought more bait for my lures.”

There was a terrified shriek from a sailor as Lance thrashed, brown hair bobbing above the railing. Snatching the braided pouch of quintessence from Sendak’s belt, Lance threw it over the railing and into the ocean. Pidge elegantly darted for the sinking parcel, clutching it close to her chest when she bobbed at their sides.

Lance’s anguished cry burst through the air as Sendak kicked him in the chin, sending him sprawling back on the deck.

Hunk screamed with furocity Keith was unfamiliar with echoing from Hunk’s large build. It resonated in his tensing muscles. But there was a resignation that settled in his aching lungs. Jowangshin had told him, this was his purpose. No matter what happened to Lance, Keith would save him.

It was this resolute determination that kept him grounded as Hunk seethed around the gills.

A small, tentative click from Pidge made Keith grab Hunk’s wrist with puncturing fingernails and drag him to the depths with a strong flick of his tail. Sendak’s laughter echoed fathoms below the last drops of sunlight.

Hunk screeched, high pitched and grating against Keith’s fluttering finned ears. He ripping his hand out of Keith’s grip. Eyes turning yellow, he slashed his tail and bared his pointed teeth, hissing, “What have you done, Pidge?” His voice fluctuated, dipping low in a growl deep in his chest.

She backed away, bringing a tail’s length between them, shoulders hunched, eyes wide, and hands extended. “Hunk, I didn’t mean --”

“Lance is gone,” he wailed, slashing his sharpened nails through the water. Bubbles trailed behind his clawed hand, dancing past his snarling face. There was a ferocity to his actions, enunciating his normally downplayed stature and using them for intimidation in his rage. His gills fluttered and his dorsal fin rustled like hackles raising. “The Galra fucking took Lance,” Hunk shrieked and Keith could still taste Lance’s blood in the water, diluted but bringing memories to the surface when his teeth were duller and snapping with hunger.

Keith slowly swam forward, placing a delicate hand on Hunk’s shoulder. The yellow paladin snapped his teeth, but Keith didn’t even flinch, holding his composure with fragile heart beats and thoughts of Jowangshin’s guiding words.

“We’ll find him,” Keith declared with no room for argument.

Hunk’s eyes seem to filter back to their normal color, white sclera and hot chocolate irises. “I’ll alert Allura and Shiro.” He spared a glance at Pidge before snapping his fins and speeding off in the direction of the coral castle and away from the lingering taste of Lance’s blood.

“Shiro’s the only one to come back though,” Pidge whispered, tail casually brushing Keith’s, “Do you really think we can rescue Lance?” There was an unspoken prayer for her family on her lips.

“That’s my job,” Keith mumbled before grabbing Pidge’s hand and dragging her in the stilling waters of Hunk’s current.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all like the beginning of this rescue arc!!
> 
> Also welcome to the Hance!! When I was originally writing this, I was going to make Lance in love with Keith in every realm. But then I thought about Keith sacrificing himself and saving Lance, not for his love but just to ensure that Lance was live, even if he was happy with someone else. I wanted to show Keith's selflessness and sheer protectiveness ~~and maybe I thought this would hurt extra bad mwuhahaha~~.
> 
> Also small admission, the rest of this arc is in editing shambles haha I'm hoping to have it all patched up to continue with weekly updates, but I'll let you all know if I need to skip a week. But in good news, I'm writing the later half of this fic for NaNo, so there is a lot more content coming, and I hope you're all excited!! (°◡°♡)
> 
> Shout out to my beta, Seldx, who makes this fic 100x better ♡♡
> 
> ♡♡Also I wanted to say thank you to all of your who comment and message me. Honestly I'm tearing up typing this little message because I'm so so grateful to all of you who read and enjoy this fic. Thank you for being amazing and always cheering me on ♡♡
> 
> ((you can also come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)))


	43. Intermission: A Message

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy ~~
> 
> hope you all enjoy!

“Doesn’t it make more sense to bet on Lotor than allow Sendak to win the throne?” Lance asked around a bite of food goo.

It had been several days since their last communication with Kolivan and the Blade of Marmora. Supposedly they kept attempting to contact them, but Allura rejected each of their calls or sent them to the Altean version of voicemail. There was a permanent scowl on her features, and Shiro’s expression was more harrowed with each passing day.

Pidge opened her mouth to respond, but a familiar alarm cut her off. Without thought, she clicked several keys on her keyboard and gazed at the video feed of Keith’s cryopod. She typed several things, probably updating her program -- not that it had predicted anything useful in the months that Keith had been trapped.

Even though they didn’t discuss the video, Lance still lost his appetite.

Dragging his spoon through his food goo, Lance drew a design and allowed the familiar weight of grief to settle in his stomach like burning embers. Red purred in the back of his mind, embracing him in a comforting warmth.

“But don’t you agree?” Lance mumbled once the alarm for Keith’s cryopod quieted, leaving a distant ringing in his ears.

“But it could also result in a fight, and I’m not sure we would survive that with our current state,” Pidge sighed and rubbed at her eyes under her glasses, smudging the lenses.

Lance dropped his spoon against the side of the bowl, watching the food goo slowly envelope it. “Yeah,” he grumbled.

  


**~~~~**

  


They were finally forced to address the issue of the Kral Zera when a Blade of Marmora member almost crashed their ship into the side of the castle, determined to land.

The doors to the docking hanger hissed open and there stood a lone Blade member, a splotch of black against the white and blue walls of the Altean castle. Standing with arms crossed, their mask was still in place as their tail seemed to sway with anticipation.

“I don’t appreciate this sort of rudeness wh--”

“Sendak is now the Emperor of the remaining Galra Empire.” The Blade snapped his feet together and stood tall as he began reporting. “Prince Lotor has gone into hiding as he was the only one to challenge Sendak’s rule and not bow in submission. There is speculation that Sendak is merely the witch’s puppet, which would account for the orders out to kill Prince Lotor. That is all.”

Allura’s parted lips closed and a light shade of blush decorated her cheeks, her embarrassment evident in the way she avoided the Blade’s eyes. “You came all this way just to report in.”

“Yes, Princess.” He nodded and turned on his heel, marching towards his ship. Pausing at the door, he turned as his mask flickered with light, “In the future, please answer our messages.”

And with that, he was gone, flying out through the hangar doors before they even opened all the way.

Allura’s shoulders slumped and when Shiro stepped beside her, she leaned into his support. “I apologize,” she breathed, eyes downcast and eyebrows furrowed. “It seems I have been impossibly foolish and immature. Not only did I let my prejudice damage our relationship with the Blades, but I inadvertently increased the size of the Galra Empire.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lance breathed, watching the way Allura’s head shot up with surprise. “Lotor didn’t seem like the greatest candidate anyway. And it’s not like we don’t agree with the philosophy that the planets should be able to rule themselves.”

“Everything will all work out. We are the Paladins of Voltron.” Shiro’s hand tightened on her shoulder, pulling her closer to his chest. Nodding against his chest, Allura smiled weakly at the group.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the idea of Allura sending Kolivan to voicemail haha
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and for your continued support (≧◡≦) ♡
> 
> You can also come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!


	44. You Shall Have Your Way, and It Will Bring You to Sorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to a feast of underwater angst, y'all
> 
> The title of this chapter is from "The Little Mermaid" by Hans Christian Anderson!!
> 
>  **a slight warning for this chapter:** there is a very brief mention of non/con and rape at the end of this chapter, and if you wish to skip over this I would suggestion that you stop reading at  "I heard Zaruth..." and start reading again at Keith heard his teeth clicking
> 
> Be safe, and enjoy!!

Keith flinched as Allura threw the braided bag to the ground, ignoring the small puff of golden flakes that floated in the water from the impact. “Explain it to me again,” she growled, pointed nails digging into her carved coral throne.

Shiro waded at her side, and Keith had to stop the way his eyes analyzed every visible scar on his best friend’s body. They were deep, puckered, and white with age. His right arm was severed, but there were no mechanics to replace it. It was strangely smooth and well patched, as if the Galra were determined to keep him alive when he was their prisoner. Patches of his slick black scales were bruised and missing, relieving greyed skin beneath.

“The Galra have my family,” Pidge began, arms straight by her side with clenched fists, “and everyone else has given up on them. So it’s up to me to do everything in my power to get them back.”

Allura burst from her throne making everyone in the throne room flinch. She floated before Pidge. Her silver hair swirled in the remaining currents of her movement, tickling Pidge’s shoulders. Her golden crown held back her bangs so that Keith could clearly watch her bare her teeth.

“So for two dead mermen, you hand deliver an atrocious amount of quintessence and another merman?” Allura hissed.

Hunk echoed the snarl at the reminder of Lance’s capture.

“They aren’t dead!” Pidge snapped, anger making her tail swish at a dangerous frequency. It took her milliseconds and the echo of her voice against the intricate coral columns of the throne room to bring a scared stiffness to her tail and a rigidity to her spine.

Keith clenched his fists, fighting the instinct to defend Pidge, understanding the driving determination to protect and save.

Allura grabbed Pidge’s chin, forcing their eyes to meet, ignoring everyone else in the room. “And how do you know this? The testimony of the Galra that double-crossed you?” She clicked her tongue, patronizing, “Pidge, I thought you were smarter than this.”

The Queen of the merfolk waited a moment before releasing Pidge and settling back into her throne. She motioned to Shiro, whispering in his ear and the frantic nature that had enveloped every movement since the news of the Galra dissipated. He picked up the braided seaweed bag from the sandy floor and brought it to Allura.

She opened it and stuck a single finger in, examining the shifts of color within the gold and the varying sizes of the particles. “Would you like to explain where you got this? It’s obviously not yours.” Her eyes raked up and down Pidge’s green tail, still shedding scales with puberty.

Keith’s mind overwhelmed him with memories of picking up blood-colored scales from his soft bed and placing them in a sealed bag. His mother and father had gathered up the scales he’d molted when he was younger, kept safe in order to be ground into quintessence.

He remembered Hunk and Lance’s bonding ceremony. All his joy and happiness evenscessed like bubbles against his heart at the thought of the distant memory. The ceremony had been very traditional, performed under a coral arch as the full moon reached its zenith. Lance and Hunk had spent so much time knitting bags to hold their quintessence, lovingly harvested from a young age. The night before the ceremony, with all of their family members in attendance, they ground up the scales into a fine powder and placed it into their handmade bags.

Then before a group of loving witnesses under that coral archway, Lance and Hunk gave the small bags to each other with words of love and affirmation. With a tentative smile, they consumed the contents, the grittiness grinding between their teeth. They shared an awkward smile before their eyes glowed, heads tipping back as silent screams mouthed from their parted lips. But in a flash of light, they were embracing, souls united and bound.

They were ya’aburnee forevermore. Tied together with their very essences.

To give quintessence, something so precious and essential to their culture, to the Galra was unthinkable.

Pidge paled when looking at the Queen, ashamed and disgusted at her actions. “Those who’ve passed away don’t really need their scales.”

The sound of Hunk retching was the only sound in the throne room for a long stretch of time. She twiddled her thumbs and looked to the ceiling as if holding back tears. But Keith already knew that merfolk couldn’t cry.

Allura hummed softly as if she couldn’t contemplate anything else, other than the heft of the bag in her hands.

“Lance,” Pidge mumbled, ignoring the small snarled from Hunk, “we have to get him back.”

“Did you not learn your lesson from your last failed rescue mission?” Allura snapped, eyes of cotton-candy sunrises intensified and focused on Pidge, horribly strict.

Keith could see the tension in her shoulders and the twitch of her jaw. There was no way that she could risk more of her people for those who were probably already dead in the Galra’s hands.

“I will go,” Keith stated, swimming forward with a determined set to his shoulders and jaw.

Shiro tensed at his words, eyes roaming over Keith’s lithe body. “You don’t know what you’re volunteering for,” Shiro growled, as if Keith’s volunteering was affront to his very being, to the very warning that was carved into his skin.

“Why would you volunteer?” Allura asked, fingers tapping against her chin, “He’s not your ya’aburnee.”

Keith floundered for what to say, how to describe his destiny and how his heart yearned for atonement for the last realm he’d been in. Atonement even without the reward of Lance’s love. Because saving Lance was so much more than that.

“I have more experience fighting on land than anyone here,” Keith spoke, tone steady and eyes fixated on Allura. He could still see Shiro seething beside her, protective and traumatized and determined not to send more family into the grasp of the Galra. “If anyone was able to succeed, it would be me.”

“You?” a new voice coughed from the hallway, peering from around the door. Shaggy white hair danced around his shoulders as he swished into the throne room, the tan of his cheeks tinted slightly with embracement. Pausing, he bowed deeply to the Queen, dark purple tail flicking in respect. “The scouting groups have more experience than you, guppy.”

Keith rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and searching for the spark of familiarity to guide him.

Suddenly the door burst open behind the merman, and a mermaid with a glittering tail of blue and golden hair that curled to her hips rushed forward.

“Is it true?” she cried out, terror evident in her posture and the clench of her hands. “Is Lance really --” but her throat caught on the next words, body curling in on itself as her gossamer fins trembled.

The merman glided to her side, shushing her quietly and wrapping her in an embrace. “Nyma, it’ll all be alright. We’ll find, Lance.”

She nodded in his arms, fingers trembling against his tanned flesh -- Rolo, his mind supplied, remembering the refugees they had met months ago, the ones that had tricked Lance into almost losing his lion.

And Nyma, the woman had poisoned him with flirtatious smiles and fluttering eyes lashes. Keith fought the urge to roll his eyes as he looked at her hunched figure, because he’d seen her act before: all smiles and fluttering eyelashes and not a modicum of sincerity. One dimension was enough to see Lance murdered by a supposed friend.

Snapping his head back to Allura, Keith stated, “I’ll be going to rescue Lance, whether you believe in my skills or not.”

“We can’t afford dead weight on the team,” Rolo said, eyes tracking Keith’s movements. “We need a small and highly effective team for this mission.”

“You speak as if I’ve already approved this suicide mission,” Allura sighed, picking coral out from underneath her fingernails. Weariness settled into the fine lines of her face, tracing the patterns Keith was familiar with: laughing, smiling, winking.

Hunk swam forward, standing at Keith’s side, muscles tense and rolling with aggravation. “That is my ya’aburnee --”

“And Sam and Matt Holt also have ya’aburnee. So did the many who were captured by the Galra.” Allura’s voice was quiet but firm, a statement that made Hunk flinch as she watched him with a narrowed gaze. “You are not alone in your suffering.”

“What if we could stop Galra once and for all?” Keith mumbled under his breath, gills barely trembling against his skin. His tail swished impatiently beneath him, hands clenched so tightly that his pointed nails threatened to break the calloused skin of his palms.

A huff of a sigh sounded through the water. “And how do you propose that, Keith?” Allura asked, irritation twitching her tail. And Keith could see it in her eyes, a darkness he’d never noticed before, a lack of hope or victory. In every single dimension, Allura was regal, determined, but there was always a softness, a glimmering belief that they would win and succeed.

But here, there was a frustration, a loss, carved deeply into the lines of her features.

“Attack them. Take back what’s ours.”

“That’ll definitely work. Why didn’t we think of that already?” Rolo mumbled sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

Keith’s eyes darted to the merman, pointed teeth bared and ready to thrash with violent words before Allura cut him off, “That’s enough. I can’t entertain this foolishness any longer. Please see --”

“I’m going,” Keith declared, meeting Allura’s pointed gaze. “And nothing you can say will stop me.”

Lips parting like she wasn’t sure how to respond, Allura stiffened in her coral throne. Shiro paused at her side, hand coming to grip he high back of her chair, nails causing small particles of coral to drift in the undercurrents.

Swishing his tail, Keith darted towards the exit, hands clenched at his sides and scales burning down the length of his tail to the tips of his fins, as if itching to Turn to legs and chase down the Galra with thrashing teeth and a crowbar heavy in his hands.

A shrill trill sounded from Allura, perched with a smug smile on her face as a legion of guards appeared behind towering coral pillars. They wore pieces of armor salvaged from wrecks or crafted over thermal vents. Their muscles rippled as they pointed spear at Keith, tips gleaming in the faint light of bioluminescent algae.

Keith paused, gaze darting to Allura, hair floating around her head in whimsical currents.

“Nothing I say will stop you, huh?” Her smile was some twisted version of everything he’d ever seen before. “Well, I will not say anything then.” Her gaze shifted to the guards, tone saccharine, “Escort Keith to the dungeons please.”

They swarmed him with sharpened spears and serious faces, directing him by slapping his scales with whips of seaweed. Over the commotion, he almost missed Allura’s hushed whisper, “For his own safety.”

  


**~~~~**

  


The dungeon was a slender cave with barely enough room to pace, fins continually brushing the rough stone walls. Chewing on his pointed nails, Keith attempted to think through the logistics of saving Lance. But there was no chance of success if he was trapped in this dungeon for eternity.

Keith had attempted to negotiate with the guards, but they were stone faced and refused to speak other than to give him barked orders.

The bars of the cave were crafted from the large rib bones of a whale, pearlescent in the dim light. Grasping the smooth bones, his fingers weren’t even close to wrapping around the entire circumference as he shook the door, rattling sounding down the corridor. He screamed after the guards, demanding to be released, but they simply ignored him -- bubbles of his voice rising in the water like a shrill hiss.

Slumping against the ground, Keith stirred small currents with his tail, fighting the rising anxiety that foamed in his lungs and settled like burning embers in his stomach. Rather than thinking of how Lance was being dragged ashore by Sendak, fingers digging deep into his skin and struggling for breath, Keith focused on the small bubbles each swish of his tail created. Instead of wondering when he would reset the day, when his failure would be determined, he memorized the feeling of his tail and the familiarity of each movement.

He wasn’t sure how long he laid on the sandy floor of the prison, arms cradling his head as his tail beat to an inaudible rhythm.

Suddenly, there was the tiniest disturbance in the water of the corridor, brushing against Keith’s gills. Springing to the cage door, he peered down the hallway to see the shimmer of sunlight scales and hear hushed whispers.

Hunk’s broad tail swished into view, face still set in determination, eyebrows set low and eyes dark.

“Hunk, what --”

“We’re going to save, Lance,” he growled, snapping the bones into fragments with the powerful slam of his tail. Shrapnel of bone scattered over Keith’s fins and landed in the white sand. Without waiting for Keith’s response, Hunk pivoted and swam down the long hallway lined with empty cells.

Pidge, a vibrant splash of green against the dark stone walls, stood at the archway. Tendrils of hair flowed from the braid and danced around her shoulders as she peered down the hallway. Holding her hand up, Hunk paused, water stilling around him in an instant. Keith careened to the side as to avoid directly crashing into Hunk.

The sound of whispered voices rippled through the water.

Hunk cursed softly.

Peering over her shoulder, Pidge’s eyes widened for a moment before they narrowed in determination.

“Pidge,” Keith whispered, but she was already gone, propelling herself towards the voices as a means of distraction.

Keith grabbed Hunk’s wrist, swimming out of the dungeon and the opposite way of the commotion and Pidge’s screams -- that were eerily similar to everything Keith had just left behind in the last world.

When they couldn’t hear the sound of the guards, Keith relaxed and dropped Hunk’s hand. He had no idea where he had led them in his haste; every hallway looked the exact same, and no familiarity sparked to guide him through the extensive palace. Thankfully, Hunk took leadership, guiding them quietly through the undisturbed waters of the lower floors of the palace, peeking behind walls around every intersection.

Shouldering open a large door, Hunk ducked into a room, and Keith followed swiftly behind. Glancing around them, Keith realized Hunk had led them to a weapons storage room, the walls lined with spears and weapons Keith didn’t even have the names for. The spears were so similar to the ones that had only just recently been pointed at him.

Settled in the back in a cylindrical coral structure were daggers, gleaming with a purple hue in the bioluminescent algae that lined the walls. They were heavy in his hands, perfectly balanced with a hilt as smooth as silk. But there was something unfamiliar about the expertly crafted weapon, especially compared to the crowbar he’d grown so accustomed to carrying.

“I knew I’d find you here.”

Keith turned, dagger hanging by his side, to see Shiro wading in the archway. He looked so imposing in the small threshold, fins brushing against the door with every slow beat of his tail. Shiro’s gunmetal gaze slowly turned to Hunk, who wouldn’t meet his eyes, shoulders hunched and muscle jumping in his jaw.

“The guards found Pidge around the dungeon,” Shiro sighed, running his hand through his hair, “and locked her in as per Allura’s orders.” His tone darkened, words clipped as though ground between his pointed teeth, “Her orders are only to keep you both safe.”

“You can’t convince me to stay, Shiro,” Keith snapped, dagger even heavier in his hands with the weight of all of his decisions. His eyes traced Shiro’s form, muscles tense and scars glimmering like the edges of comets in the dim light. There was a determined set to Shiro’s jaw and his eyebrows furrowed, hooding his disapproving glare.

Tilting his head to the side, Shiro swam a little closer. “Really? A couple stories wouldn’t convince you?” He motioned with his missing arm, scars glinting at the severed end. “Nothing about how they dragged me ashore, hook through the arm. Poked and prodded like I was some experiment. Let infection take my arm so that they could study it under the microscope. Plucked my scales one by one to grind into Quin--”

“That’s enough,” Keith barked, eyes flying to Shiro’s, panic making his hands spasm on the hilt of his dagger.

A wave of familiarity overcame him, carrying with it the vision of Shiro before his capture -- the lightness Keith saw in his features so similar to that before Kerberos or in Jowangshin’s realm. The desperation, the depression, the agony that surrounded his capture. The way Keith had screamed at Allura, tears pinching at his eyes, but refusing to cascade, lost to the tide of the ocean. And then the sudden slam of the memory of Shiro, blood tainting the warm water, as he swam towards the edges of the city. Fine fins punctured and blood crusting the edges of his scales and severed limb dark with scar tissue and black stitches.

Keith drew himself from _this_ Keith’s memories as every visceral emotion tore through his skin like paper. His eyes quickly darted back to the soft sand of the weapon room floor as nausea roiled in his stomach, each scene still so poignant in his mind.

“Stop,” Keith whispered, “I already know.”

A gentle hand placed on his shoulder as Shiro smiled weakly. “Then why, Keith?”

“Because I can’t let it happen again,” he sobbed, throat constricting with the familiar sensation of tears, eyebrows furrowing and chin trembling but no tears leaked from his eyes. “I can’t sit around and wait for a better answer to come along. I can’t let the Galra keep getting away with everything!”

“I won’t let them take Lance from me,” Hunk stated, shoulders lowering as he stood at his full height. Keith straightened out his spine beside Hunk, enjoying the camaraderie that flowed between them, a determination he’d never felt vibrating from Hunk’s form.

Shiro’s frown deepened into his features, hand clenching at his side and trembling with white-knuckle force.

“Allura was right to lock you up for your own safety,” Shiro stated while meeting their gazes. “I should call the guards on you -”

“But you wouldn’t do that, would you, Guard Caption?” a familiar voice jeered, laughter tingeing the tone.

Rolo stood in the hallway, arms crossed and head tilted to the side while a smirk crossed his features. “Let them take a scout, and we’ll put an end to the Galra.”

Shiro turned to face Rolo, the muscles of his back rolling in irritation as he straightened his shoulders. “Like hell I’d --”

But Shiro collapsed under the hard thud of the hilt of the dagger to the back of his head. Eyes rolling back as he collapsed into Hunk’s waiting arms, lowering him slowly to the soft sand on the weapon’s room floor.

“Let’s go,” Keith grumbled, ignoring the guilt that chewed on the bottom of his ribs and stole his breath. But it wasn’t like he hadn’t done worse. Other times it was the blade of the dagger and the whimper of a prayer.

Rolo whistled as they continued down the hallway. “Damn, Keith, that was harsh.”

“Shut up,” Keith growled, turning pointed teeth on Rolo in a hiss. The merman raised his hands in a placating nature in response to Keith’s defensiveness.

The tension diffused out of their muscles when they’d escaped the palace and surrounding town, weapons still poised in their hands. Hunk paused by a large rock structure that had been in their patrol path from this morning. Skidding to a stop, Keith bobbed beside Hunk in the water.

“We need a plan,” Keith sighed, eyes casting to the glittering surface fathoms above them. “The Galra traveled North, but I believe that they have already docked since it’s been --”

“They’d take him to the island,” Rolo commented picking sand out from underneath his pointed nails, spear held under his arm.

“Island?”

Rolo rolled his eyes, pointing towards the surface in the East with his spear. “There’s an island that they take our captured to. We discovered only about a year ago while patrolling the far Eastern boarder.”

Keith wrapped a hand around Rolo’s bicep, dragging the larger mermaid towards him, positioning himself so that he was looking down at those pinched features. “If you’ve known about his island for a year, why are Sam and Matt still in Galra hands?”

Tugging himself from Keith’s grip, Rolo stiffened, disapproving gaze dusting over the sand below them as he brushed off his arm.

“We weren’t sure what they were using it for.” Sighing, his shoulders slumped and there was a vulnerability to his eyes that was something unfamiliar to Keith. “We knew it had to do with Quintessence -- could practically taste the residue in the water. It was only a suspicion that they would take mermen there.”

“I don’t trust you,” Keith growled out, digging a sharpened nail into Rolo’s chest. He could still see the calculation in Nyma’s eyes behind delicately gloved hands or the way Rolo had flirted with him so casually in order to steal Blue from under their noses. “But it’s our best bet.” His gaze darted to Hunk for confirmation, but the merman simply turned and started swimming in the direction Rolo had pointed.

  


**~~~~**

  


Keith could tell they were close when a slightly euphoric taste, like candied strawberries and sugary vanilla, stuck to his gills like a fine layer of oil. In the tentative haze of ecstasy and oxygen deprivation, he saw the ground gradually rise, fins soon dipping in the powdery sand and heads bobbing above the water.

The island was huge, jutting from the water like a tumor. A sandy beach lined the entire coast with inviting palm trees and plumes of grass swaying in the briny breeze. Like a trail of ink, a dock protruded from the side of the island where several steamboats bobbed calmly in the water, curls of steam still rising from the pipes.

The tower of the building pierced the twilight sky scattering a looming shadow over the wall that surrounded it. Made of various bits of metal welded together, the wall stood at least twenty feet from the soft sand in the shape of a pentagon. Each point held a tower with walls high enough to provide protection but allow for a view of the entire ocean that kissed the horizon.

Rolo took a step forward, feet sinking into the wet sand of the beach. With a hunched back he ran for the cover of the swaying grasses and tall trees. Hunk followed shortly behind, scales still glittering on his cheekbones.

Keith’s Turn was more natural this time, gills closing with a simple thought. But the sensation of reorienting his bones still sent currents of pain up his spine. Stepping onto the beach, he couldn’t help but cast a curious glance to his human body. His legs were still muscular and pale, hair thin on his legs and dripping with water. Several scales still dotting his flesh at the backs of his knees and on the tops of his feet. He willfully ignored the strange sensation of the wind caressing his naked form.

Settling in the grasses next to Rolo and Hunk, Keith shifted the dagger in his palm, becoming accustomed to the unfamiliar weight.

“So we’re just supposed to scale the walls?” Keith huffed, looking to Rolo for any insightful information, but the merman just shrugged his shoulders and clutched his spear tighter to his side.

“There’s an entrance by the docks, but it’s always crawling with soldiers.”

Keith’s eyes trailed the walls, looking for any other entry point. “That seems like our best bet.” Rolo snapped his gaze to him, eyes wide and jaw slack. Motioning to the wall before them, Keith hissed, “There isn’t even a tree within five feet of this wall. The dock entrance is the only way.”

Hunk didn’t even say anything, merely nodding before running back into the water without even a splash. With the flick of a golden tail, he was halfway down the beach to the black, steel dock.

Quickly following after Hunk, he almost didn’t hear Rolo mumble, “Feet? Like _feet_?”

In any other context, the confusion on Rolo’s features may have drawn a laugh out of him, bubbling and uninhibited. Lance had always loved to educate every alien on all of the slang that was popular on Earth, between idioms and memes, it seemed like Lance was always talking, enthusiasm in every flick of his hands. And of course, Coran and Allura found all of this fantastically interesting -- even when Lance would incorrectly tell the details of a movie, simply waving his hands in dismissal if his inaccuracies were pointed out.

The sheen of Quintessence in the water became denser the closer they swam to the dock, settling on his flesh like a thin sheen of grime. In the distance over the sound of the waves lapping against the pillars of the dock and the hulls of the ships, voices were calling to each other.

Hunk paused beneath the dock, sand brushing their fins with each quiet beat of their tails. Each breath echoed against the water and the metal of the dock.

“What's our --” Rolo whispered, only for Keith to cut him off with a harsh hiss, ears straining to hear the casual conversation above them.

“Of course I'm on deck duty when we catch a mermaid,” the rough voice huffed, boots loudly tapping against the dock. “Took me three hours to get the stain out, but gods the smell still won't go away.”

Another voice barked a laugh, more of a hacking cough then a chuckle. “I'd rather clean the entire hull then be on Quintessence duty. Vorok was telling me that he was almost bit by one of those things.” The tapping stopped while a large creak of footsteps sounded, and the voice was so hushed it was almost inaudible over the sounds of their breaths, “And have you seen their fucking teeth?”

“I heard Zarkuth had such a mer-fetish he almost got his dick grated when they hauled up the orange one.”

Keith dipped his lips beneath the water to muffle the growl that instinctively vibrated up this threat, bubbling from his lips. Glancing to Hunk and Rolo, he saw disgust and anger transform their features, a synchronization in horror.

“Like Haggar doesn't know everything at goes on in that lab,” the second voice wheezed, skepticism dripping from their words.

“Oh, I heard that if you go through the service elevators you can get some alone time with them.”

Keith froze at the information, bobbing above the water to catch the fading sounds of their voices as they traveled further down the dock towards the sole entrance.

“Like I'd go out of my way to spend time with those creatures. Zarkuth can have them all to himself.” The cackling laughter echoed over the dock as their footsteps transitioned to the crunch of sandy beaches.

Keith heard his teeth clicking and a sudden spasm of pain travel the length of his jaw before he unclamped his grinding teeth.

Surging towards the shore, Hunk gripped his spear by his side. “Let’s go,” he growled, tone so unfamiliar that Keith shivered.

“Wait,” Keith hissed, grabbing hold of the end of Hunk’s spear to keep him from propelling himself up on the sand and barging into the building, naked and snarling. “We can't just storm in naked. They would literally shoot us on sight. This mission calls for more,” and like the thunderous weight of jupiter’s gravity, Keith could practically hear _his_ Lance say, ‘finesse’ with a smile on his lips and spiriting fingers framing his face. Choking Keith stumbled around the word, “Finesse.”

Both merman tilted their heads to the side, and with a huff, Keith directed them to the farthest and smallest ship. Pulling themselves up onto the dock, they quickly stormed across the deck and down the stairs to the low ceilinged barracks. With each step, their feet slapped against the metal like wet fins.

Thankfully, it seemed that the inhabitants of this ship were resting on the base or were enjoying a late lunch before a casual shipment of Quintessence to the mainland.

Pulling uniforms from the drawers beneath the slender beds, Keith tossed them at Hunk and Rolo who merely held them in their hands with confusion clear on their faces. Keith pulled on his outfit, cursing at the starched stiffness of the sleeves and the tight high neck of the jacket. The sleeves barely touched his wrists while the pants pooled at his ankles around the polished black shoes he'd shoved his feet into.

“How do you fasten these?” Rolo asked, pants on backwards and obviously too large for his slender frame.

“Do I really have to wear,” Hunk held up the pair of shoes Keith had shoved in his arms, “these? This is all just a waste of time.” He threw the shoes down to the metal decking. “While we’re here pretending to be human, they’re -- they’re -- you heard exactly what those guards were talking about!”

Keith picked up the shoes, closing his eyes slowly as he thought of a way to rationalize this to Hunk, when his heart agreed, thirsted for battle and the scent of ashes on the wind.

“This’ll allow us to sneak past them so that we can get to Lance and the Holts easier. This is necessary because we can't attack them full force.” He pictured Pidge with the map heavy in her hands, planning out the least dangerous route to Allura and Coran’s, and how Jowangshin had coached him in the ways of battle, through a demonstration of power and fear, but Lance had taught him restraint and strategy. “We’d be slaughtered before we could even hope to reach Lance if we don't plan this wisely. Okay?” His voice held the firmness that Shiro had used when Keith had gotten himself in trouble in the Garrison, a loving harshness that belied loving empathy.

“Okay,” Hunk admitted, grabbing the shoes from Keith’s hands.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you all are liking this arc so far!! I've been super nervous to post every chapter, and I'm so so thankful for all of your support and comments, because they honestly mean the world to me!!! (≧◡≦) ♡ thank you for all the comments and messages putting my mind at ease for the quality of this arc so far ♡♡
> 
> A small update, I might not be able to post next week with it being Thanksgiving and all. But I should be back the following week, right back on schedule! Thank you all so much for understanding -- and if there is any reason for my continued lack of posting, I'll be sure to post some updates on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!
> 
> (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ


	45. Intermission: Shifts in Reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> I'm sorry for the small break in posting. My grandma and my dog both recently passed away -- they were both old and very sick, so it wasn't unexpected but still. . .
> 
> Thank you all so much for your wonderful comments, because they really made me smile during this hard time (°◡°♡)

Lance could tell this was a dream from the moment he registered where he was -- standing outside of his own body and watching him and Keith talk in one of those small window alcoves. Keith’s knees were tucked to his chest and his forehead was pressed against the glass, each breath fogging the distant stars. There was a defensiveness to the hunch of his shoulders and the way that he avoided the dream Lance’s gaze.

Stepping forward, Lance could even see the awkwardness in his own movements: hands flailing too much and feet swaying side to side as if to calm the anxiousness that bubbled in his stomach.

Kneeling before the two of them, Lance allowed his gaze to settle on Keith and remember him in these little ways: the grim set to his features that only fluctuated slightly into the barest smile, the way he would rub his fingers together or pick at the edges of his gloves, and the slender column of his neck bobbing with each harsh swallow. Their conversation was almost a buzz in the back of his mind like he was listening through a barrier of water. But he enjoyed the way Keith’s eyes drifted from the stars to his profile; there was something in Keith’s expression that Lance had never seen before.

But before he could place it, Allura’s voice blared through the dream, shattering the edges and making Lance jump to his feet. His gaze was still fixated on the boys in front of him, undisturbed by the voice that echoed down the hallway.

The dream seemed to fade in front of his eyes, edges blurring around the sound of Allura’s voice. And Lance reached forward as if to grasp at the thinning strands of the scene before him, to sew it into his heart and replace that frozen cryopod smile with the warm, relieved smile on Keith’s face right now.

But he sat up in bed, skin tingling and Allura’s announcement ringing through his room.

He ignored the strange sense of deja vu that settled into his veins that fluttered with each beat of his heart. Shaking his head as if to erase the remnants of the dream, he threw on his paladin armor and rushed through the hallways to the command center.

  


**~~~~**

  


Allura stood in the center of the room, skin bathed in the flashing red light of the holoscreen. “It’s an Altean distress code --”

“Codes used by King Alfor’s ships!” Coran cut in.

“-- what if we’re not the last Altean’s alive,” Allura breathed with a sense of hope that made Lance’s stomach curl in worry. Pulling up the coordinates on the star map, Allura placed her hands on the teludav controls and opened a wormhole. “We’re going to find them.”

They didn’t expect to find a spaceship caught in the rift of time, nor did they expect to disappear within it.

  


**~~~~**

  


“Something isn’t right here,” Hunk mumbled, trembling hands clutching his bayard.

Nodding towards the outdated technology and the degradation of the ship, Pidge noted, “It looks abandoned.”

“But that doesn’t account for the strange biorhythms I picked up in this area,” Hunk grumbled as he looked at the fluctuating graph projecting from his paladin gauntlet.

Lance stood by Allura’s side as she walked toward the dashboard of the ship, desperate for answers. His hands tightened on his bayard, eyes scanning the area because he agreed with Hunk: something wasn’t right here.

Before anyone could say speak, a vent in the ceiling was kicked out, clattering to the ground only to be followed by unfamiliar silhouettes. Two dark shapes in unrecognizable spacesuits held weapons ready to fire, but Lance fired his bayard first. “Look out!”

Charging forward, he focused on the taller intruder, sighting them down his rifle only for each shot to be skillfully dodged.

The stranger pulled a sword from his waist and met Lance halfway across the room, fighting with quick and aggressive movements. Jumping backwards, Lance managed to avoid a hit to the ribs. But he quickly dropped to a squat as the blade whizzed over his head.

Before he could stagger to his feet, Hunk was tackling the figure, pinning them to the ground and sending their weapon spinning out of reach. Pidge fired her bayard, shooting the green grappling hook at the helmet. The glass shattered across the stranger’s face and the entire team froze. Because he looked exactly like Keith.

In Hunk’s shock, his grip loosened around Keith’s wrists, and the yellow paladin was swiftly pushed to the ground. Keith jumped to his feet, hands raised in a fighting stance and lips twisted in a snarl.

Lance couldn’t stop the way his eyes drifted over that familiar figure, resting on the long bangs that were tucked behind his ears and the scowl that curled his lips.

Shiro’s grip on the smaller figure faltered, dropping the alien to the deck and allowing it to scurry behind the familiar face.

“Keith,” Shiro breathed.

“How --” Lance began only for uncertainty to choke him as a flurry of emotions swirled in his chest.

How many months had it been since he had seen Keith’s eyes, a torrent of grey and soft violet? How long since he had seen Keith’s pouting frown? How long since he had seen anything other than that peaceful smile?

“The only way you’re getting the comet is over my dead body,” Keith growled in a tone that was so unfamiliar to him that it made Lance stumble backward, “Altean.” The title was spit from Keith’s lips like venom, and Lance felt Allura stiffen at his side.

Shiro stepped forward, raising his hands in a placating nature, “Keith, please, all we want is to talk --”

“Talk?” Keith spit, eyebrows lowering and features curling into something so Galran in nature. “You expect me to trust any of you while you’re with an Altean?” His eyes jumped to Allura, but seemed to linger on Lance for a second, their gazes catching and settling for far too long. A “And how dare you use his image to taunt me, Altean. How dare you rifle through my thoughts! I’m not one of your non-cogs to manipulate!”

“Keith, I would never -- not that I know how to do such things,” Allura defended herself, taking a couple careful steps toward the two familiar figures. She was clearly flustered as she shook her head as if trying to grasp whatever Keith was claiming.

Pulling off his helmet, Lance smiled widely at Keith, unable to hold back the tears of joy that pooled in the corners of his eyes. “Keith, come on, man. It’s us. You know us.”

Keith’s expression crumbled into torment and a single tear caressed his cheek. “All I know is that the Alteans took you, so you can’t be my Lance.”

 _His_ Lance?

“Keith, you’ve been trapped in a cryopod for months,” Pidge started, eyes narrowing and fingers tapping against the holoscreen projected from her gauntlet. Lance struggled to ignore the words that transformed his stomach into a swarm of butterflies by distracting himself with Pidge’s skeptical hope. “Everyday we watch you die and come back to life, so how did you get here? What happened?”

The stranger behind Keith straightened with a terrified gasped, multiple hands clutching to Keith’s leg. “That only had a 0.3% chance of occuring in any reality. To believe it has,” the creature that looked like Slav muttered. “The butterfly effect that this will have on the rest of the universes will be immense. Keith, we must go. I need to redo all of my calculations.”

Throwing themselves back through the vent, Keith looked over his shoulder at Lance with a longing look that he couldn’t seem to place.

Without conscious intent, Lance raced across the room as if to hold Keith and demand answers.

“Coran,” Allura spoke, attempting to reach the castle, “is Keith still in the cryopod? Coran?”

But Coran didn’t answer, and it wasn’t long until they met other Alteans -- quickly blinded to their unethical practices by their joy of discovering more of Allura’s people.

They caught a brief glimpse of Keith after they discovered the atrocities the Alteans were committing in this reality. Lance couldn’t ignore the struggle that played itself out on Allura’s features as he whispered into the comms, “It’s okay, Allura. You couldn’t have known.”

“That’s not the real --,” she began, but she cut herself off and pushed the thrusters on Blue harder as they flew Voltron out of the alternate reality. Clearing her throat, she said, “Thank you, Lance.”

And it was only later when they were back in their reality did Lance’s stomach turn with the possibilities of what Slav said.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favorite intermission chapters! I hope you liked it too!!
> 
> Kuods, comment, and all that good stuff ~~ I crave validation haha (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ


	46. Foam on the Crest of the Waves

“And you're sure that we’re wearing this right?” Rolo asked, pulling on the neck of his jacket with a small choking sound.

“Unfortunately,” Keith sighed.

The stiffness to the sleeves reminded him too much of the Garrison -- the good ( _Shiro and Matt and finally feeling like he belonged after losing his dad and his Aunt obviously wanting nothing more than to get rid of him_ ) and the bad ( _losing everything he'd finally begun to love, Shiro and Matt, and forcefully destroying his time at the Garrison with a well-timed punch to Iverson’s smug face_ ).

They stepped off of the ship to see the building in its full gothic glory: high watch towers and barbed wire perched atop the top of the walls. His lungs ached from breathing them full of oxygen, lips dry and cracked in the humid ocean air. They made their way down the dock, and Keith tried to maintain that indifferent facade he’d worn at the Garrison, crowds of students easily parting for him.

He ignored the small stutter in Rolo and Hunk’s steps, not used to the feeling of feet, much less shoes.

Swallowing, Keith attempted to walk through the door, pointed spikes of the portcullis glinting dangerously from their position above the entry.

“Haven't seen you ‘round here,” a gruff voice barked from just inside the entry, jacket open and collar flopping loosely on his sweaty neck.

Keith stopped in his walk, hands hanging casually at his sides before his eyes darted to the boy positioned to guard the door. He was slouched in a chair, butt of the gun sitting on the edge of the seat while the muzzle leaned against his shoulder, one hand thrown over the sleek, dangerous weapon.

Rolling his eyes, Keith scoffed, ignoring the sweat that began to beed on his back and roll down his spine. “If this is you offering to show me around, don't bother, boy.” His tone was harsh and degrading as he marched forward.

“Wasn't offering.” The cocking of a gun made Keith pause, turning on his heel to see the boy sitting straighter, both hands gripping the gun. “We've been in port for three hours, Sir. I'm only doing my job since you're unfamiliar.” The guard’s eyes darted over his form, and Keith crossed his arms to hide the ill fitting sleeves.

Keith ground his teeth, refusing to look at Hunk and Rolo, knowing full well the anxiety that was painted all over their features. “We’ve been rather _busy_ for those three hours on the ship.”

“Busy?”

Keith smirked and raised an eyebrow, watching the revelation and blush spread across the boy’s cheeks. Ducking his chin, the boy ushered with his gun that they could go. “Sorry for the hold up, sir. You can proceed.”

Nodding, Keith strode forward, arms crossed, but the tension faded from the knots in his shoulders as they darted in the closest doorway.

“What the hell was that, Keith?” Rolo spit, worry still furrowing his brow. “How could you insinuate that --”

“I got us in here, okay?” Keith snarled, pivoting on the ball of his foot to face Rolo.

Hunk shouldered between them, body warm against Keith’s as he pushed them both apart. “Let’s focus on finding Lance,” he mumbled, voice a low warning. Above his collar, Keith could see Hunk’s gills flaring out in anger with a whistled trill in anger.

Huffing a sigh, Keith stepped back and took a chance to observe their surroundings. The walls were metal with purple lights lining the floor much like Galra cruisers from his reality. The hallway ended in sharp turns with very few sliding doors dotting the walls.

“The soldiers mentioned the service elevators, which means that Lance is below ground because there wasn’t a large upstairs that we could view from outside,” Keith mumbled as he started walking towards the end of the hallway, away from the dock and deeper into the fortress. “They would keep him in the most secure place.”

Hunk and Rolo fell into step with him, not saying a word while attempting to mimic his quiet footsteps.

Harsh voices made Keith pause, pressing his body against the cold metal of the walls. Straining to hear their words, he heard the sound of squeaking wheels and the scratch against the stone flooring.

“It’s always a shame when we have to throw them back.”

“It’s a shame because they reek and we have to transport them through the whole compound. My clothes smell like it for weeks,” another voice growled, irritation palpable in the air.

The sounds were getting closer, and Keith made the split second decision to step out from behind the wall and walk confidently down the hallway containing the voices.

“Keith,” Rolo hissed behind him, but neither of them followed as he strode forward, face a perfect mask of indifference and irritation.

“And how long did this one last? Five hours?”

Keith heard their voices before he saw their shadows solidify in the dim light shining from the bulbs running along the floor. The soldiers were tall, broad shouldered and wheeling a cart before them as they chatted.

“Pathetic thing, really,” one of the guards jeered, bumping his shoulder with his partner’s as he flicked at whatever was within the cart.

Inhaling, Keith caught a familiar scent in the stale air of the compound: briny like the ocean and the faintest hint of vanilla.

The wheels of the cart stopped as soon as the guards spotted Keith approaching. Shoulders stiffening, they squinted their eyes and tilted their heads to the side, examining him.

“Aren’t cadets like you supposed to stay on the other end of the compound?” Their tone was more curious than reprimanding. One of them, rested a single hand on the handle of the cart while the other dropped to the sword at his waist.

Keith kept walking as he responded, “Got an urgent message for Haggar about the next shipment of lab supplies. But I don’t know how to get to the labs,” he admitted sheepishly.

The one whose hand rested on his sword relaxed as he sighed, running a hand through his short hair. “Captain Guruth sending runts to do his work instead,” he grunted, shaking his head. “At the next right, take the second door. The code is 7783 to activate the elevator. Haggar’s lab is in the basement.”

Nodding his thanks, Keith started marching forward, fighting the instinct to look into the cart and the familiar scent that settled on his tongue. The briefest of glances made breath still in his chest. His feet stuttered to a stop, standing beside the cart as he gazed at the mutilated sight within.

Blood splattered the sides of the cart and coagulated deep within the rivets that patterned tanned flesh, twisted to fit within the confines of the box.

Vomit rolled in his stomach as his eyes sought every detail, branding it into his memory like so many days before.

Lance’s features were pinched, eyes wide and terrified -- all color and lifelessness accentuated in the glossiness. The tips of his teeth were shattered, flattened and rendered into something far less threatening, something more easy to handle. The entirety of his tail was plucked free of scales, even the ones that dotted his collar bones and his high cheekbones, leaving only pockets of raw flesh. Cushioning his head, his arm lay bent with fingers curved and blackened and all the wrong colors.

Disbelief hummed in Keith’s blood like the edges of a nightmare, waking with such terror boiling in your stomach. Was it terror or lingering hunger from a realm so close to his mind?

He had failed, like so many days before, but the wound was raw -- like the gouges of marred skin that covered Lance’s flesh, like the gaping teeth marks that had devoured him and sucked sinew from bone, like the poisoned had rendered him and the flame had delivered him, like the very first day when Lance was placed in the cryopod, cold to the touch.

With a trembling hand, Keith reached forward to touch the bare skin of Lance’s tail.

“Oh yeah, recruits like you don’t get a chance to see a mer everyday,” one of the guards snorted, slapping the side of the box and making Lance’s head rattle and his fins suction against the crate walls with excess water dripping from the tips.

There was no longer tension in his limbs, no playful flick of his tail or graceful litheness to his fingers or a cocky smile and wink.

Lance’s skin was cool against Keith’s shaking fingertips, rough skin that was once hidden beneath scales, so unfamiliar to the touch. Everything about this Lance so different -- so mutilated and so broken.

Like a collapsing star had imploded within Keith’s chest, he bit his lip, holding in a disembodied sob in the opening chasm between his ribs.

With a laugh, the guard, roguish and with a rough beard, grabbed a handful of Lance’s hair, halling his head up. The arm cushioning his head lifelessly swung to hit the box as the soldier shook Lance’s head. Glossy eyes rolled slightly with each shake of the soldiers arm.

“You can see their gills right here.” Plucking the dagger from the side of his belt, the man lifted the gossamer thin skin from Lance’s neck. Then he thrust the dagger against Lance’s teeth, tapping on the fractured edges. “After it bit Captain Sendak on the boat, we shattered its teeth. Normally they’re enough to slice right through your skin and --”

Before he could finish, Keith grabbed the dagger from the soldier’s hand and thrust it directly into the guard’s eye. Blood splattered his hands, warm against his cooling skin. Gurgling, the guard fell over the side of the box, dripping blood onto Lance’s body.

Anger and indignation seethed in Keith’s blood, demanding compensation, demanding atonement. He could almost hear Jowangshin whispering to him, all ash and the chuckle of crackling fire, demanding sacrifices at the tendrils of her flames.

The other guard’s eyes widened, but before he could even attempt to pull his sword from his waist, Keith sunk the blade deep within his throat to silence his scream. Yanking the dagger out, he wiped it on their uniforms, not even bothering to hide their bodies.

Bloodlust still sung in his veins, racing with every rapid heartbeat.

“Hunk. Rolo,” he called, dagger heavy in his hand, unfamiliar but not unwelcome.

He steadied himself to the sound of approaching footsteps.

“What hap--”

But Rolo’s question was cut off by the choked sob that echoed out of Hunk. Turning stiffly, Keith bit his lip and looked over Hunk’s trembling form. One hand firmly gripped the crate as if to keep him from collapsing, while the other traced the broken and bloody planes of Lance’s face.

“Lance, ya’aburnee, please,” Hunk weeped, voice quiet and constricted by tears that threatened to roll down his cheeks, but never did - mermaids couldn’t cry after all. With shaking fingertips, Hunk brushed the hair out of Lance’s eyes before closing his eyelids and hiding those lifeless depths. “I -- I thought I felt his presence leave me, but it’s been so distant since he was kidnapped. I never -- I never thought that he would actually be --”

Rolo placed a hand on Hunk’s shaking shoulder.

“The pain of losing a ya’aburnee is --”

“I’m going to find the Holts,” Keith stated, turning on the ball of his foot and ignoring the raging emptiness that was cavernous within him, a pain so easily mirror on Hunk’s features. He knew his pain, felt the ach in his heart and in the marrow of his bones, even without the bond of a ya’aburnee. “Get out of here as soon as Hunk can walk,” he directed Rolo without even glancing over his shoulder.

Rounding the corner with harsh steps, he saw the door the guard had mentioned -- imposing like all the rest, crafted of steel in the walls of the fortress. Slapping his hand on the panel, the metal panel slid open, revealing the small keypad.

“You, there!” a voice barked, and Keith turned to see a squadron of guards running down the hallway, knives posed at their sides as they charged forward. At the sight of the blood splatter on his clothes, they shouted, surrounding him in a second.

He punched the numbers into the keypad, waiting for the door to open at his back, dagger heavy in his hand.

The first soldier charged, sword swinging in a wide arch that Keith easily blocked with the flick of his wrist. Another thrust his sword at Keith’s abdomen, grunting with frustration when Keith narrowly avoided the strike, hearing the wish of sliced air as it passed.

Glancing behind him, he watched the elevator doors part with a breath, opening a snail’s pace. He cursed under the sound of clashing metal of his daggers against attacking swords. The only way he was making it out of this fight alive was if he made it into the elevator before a guard sunk a sword into his flesh. With the narrowed space, no guards would be able to flank him, giving him a small advantage at only fighting two or three soldiers rather than the entire battalion.

A dagger slashed across his bicep, slicing deep enough for electricity to ricochet up his arm and creating another opening for an attack in his flinch of pain.

“Surrender!” a guard bellowed as he stabbed through Keith’s weakened guard, sinking the tip of the sword into the meat of his shoulder.

Screaming, Keith slashed his daggers in a frantic arc and forcing the soldiers to jump back. Vision dotting slightly, he staggered backward, shoulders sagging against the leisurely opening doors.

“Fuck you,” Keith spit, backing through the doors the second they opened wide enough to him to fit.

A guard charged forward, following Keith through the narrow space with fury clouding his judgement. Catching the Galran’s attacking arm, Keith slammed his dagger into the guard’s stomach. Wrapping a hand around the guard’s throat, he used him as a shield to keep the other soldiers at a distance as their companion gurgled his last breath under Keith’s tight grip. But the weight was a burn on Keith’s weakening arms and a burden in the growing accessibility of the elevator.

Squeezing as many people in the elevator as possible, the door slid shut behind them, sealing their fates together.

Even in this tight space, there were too many of them, too many openings for attack, too many wounds on his body. So, he died in that elevator, blood pooling around the soldier’s feet as he clasped at the torn flesh of his abdomen, agony streaking up his nerves like fire igniting a trail of gunpowder. Pins and needles stung under his fingernails, rendering his senses into nothing but flashes of recognition. With the last of his strength, he peered into the lab, catching a flash of orange scales glinting in the lights. The slam of hands against glass. A muffled cry.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter is so short, but I promise some of the upcoming chapter as so loooong -- I just liked the flow better with these divisions!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter (°◡°♡) thank you all so much for your wonderful comments!! (I'm finally getting the chase you answer all of you, so I'm so sorry fo the delay, but I promise that I read all of the comments and I treasure them!!!)


	47. Intermission: The Voltron Show

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why am I posting three chapters in one day? Maybe I felt bad about posting so little? Maybe it's an elaborate plan that I'll execute in a couple weeks? Maybe you'll never know? Mwuahaha _(:3 」∠)_

Lance could still feel the power of the wormhole vibrating through his skin as he clutched Red’s controls. With a sigh, he relaxed back in his seat, gazing through his lion’s eyes at the transreality comet in Voltron’s grasp. Swirls of ore glittered with an otherworldly power between the deepest black and jagged edges.

“Coran!” Allura called out, and Lance could still hear the desperation and betrayal in her voice.

“Paladins!” Coran yelled, relief palpable in his voice. “Thank the ancients!”

The impact of a shot against Voltron ripped Lance’s hands off the controls and sent him reeling into the armrest. An unfamiliar ship warped into the space beside them, firing another shot against the Castle of Lions.

“Thank you for answering my distress signal, paladins,” a voice purred through their communicators. It crawled along Lance’s skin, giving him goosebumps and making him grind his teeth. “The true emperor to the Galra Empire appreciates your sacrifice.” A chuckle buzzed over the communicator as two smaller fighter jets, different from the classic Galra design, flew and attached ropes of light to the comet in Voltron’s arms.

“Like hell!” Pidge yelled.

Lance reached for the controls, ready to tighten his grip on the comet, but Red barely reacted to his commands; she was only a muted purr at the back of his mind. “Red’s not responding!” Lance screamed.

“It must be an effect of going through the wormhole,” Pidge growled as the fighter jets dragged the comet after the unfamiliar ship.

So Lotor, self-declared Galra Emperor, literally stole the comet from their hands and warped away.

“Yeah, I’m glad we didn’t support follow Kolivan’s advice to make him Emperor,” Pidge grumbled.

“He’s a prick.” Lance crossed his arms and watched the last tendrils of the warped gate disappear into the faded stars in the distance.

Allura’s laugh was a refreshing sound through their communicators.

  


**~~~~**

  


“I’m sorry, you want to what?” Shiro asked again, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. The bags under his eyes seemed to be even darker than before, dragging from his lower lashes like badges of for how long he could go without proper sleep.

Coran stood up taller, clasping his hands behind his back and giving the group a wide smile. “The Voltron Show! We can recruit new members to the Coalition through a show of arms and entertainment!”

“Shouldn’t there be other things we’re focusing on?”

And although no one said anything specifically, Lance knew all of their thoughts drifted to Keith, bound to that cryopod with no explanation as to why.

Swallowing his guilt, Lance titled up his head and smiled at Coran. “I think it could be a great way to gather support.” He wouldn’t admit that he was desperate for a distraction, desperate for something other than lulling himself to sleep in Red’s cockpit to a lullaby of her bloodlust.

“That’s my boy!” Coran winked and smiled wider than anyone had in months.

Maybe something fun and uplifting would be the best thing for their aching and hollow hearts. Maybe this was all an elaborate distraction from Coran to bring smiles back to their faces.

Lance narrowed his gaze, watching the way Coran’s eyebrows rose and fell as he enthusiastically talked about all he had in mind. Glancing over his shoulder, Coran met his analytical gaze with a warm smile that told Lance everything he needed to know.

  


**~~~~**

  


Lance would never admit it, but he was so grateful for these ridiculous shows. It was refreshing to see Shiro leap across the stage and Allura laugh at the ridiculous lines (“Shiro the hero,” she’s collapsed over in a fit of laughter that brought tears to her eyes and eventually twisted Shiro’s expression into a half smile).

There was a little more light in the castle, like the weight of the universe lighter with all of the members of the Coalition beside them.

And each morning that Lance woke to the sound of the cryopod alarm was a little easier to bear.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who leaves comments and kudos (°◡°♡)
> 
> I'm back on my regular posting schedule so I'll see you all next week!!! °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°


	48. To Become Foam on the Crest of the Waves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to the angst fest!! ( o˘◡˘o) ♨
> 
> a small warning: there are moments of explicit gore in this chapter -- there will be a summary at the end if you feel the need to skip this chapter!! Stay safe! <3

He found himself drifting with the currents, embracing the lulling feeling that offered him a reprieve from the charring memories that threatened to surface.

“Think we can draw on his tail?”

“Real mature, Lance.”

His eyes snapped open as he gasped, water bursting through his paper-thin gills in shock. In the moment after sleep, Keith searched for the pain, the agony that had only moments ago laced his system and rendered his organs to ash and embers. His hands pressed against his abdomen, feeling nothing but smooth skin and the ridges of scales.

It took a minute for his vision to steady, focusing on Lance and Hunk standing in his doorway, brows furrowed and fins intimately brushing each other.

“Well,” Lance asked, tapping impatient fingers along his bicep, arms crossed and accenting the definition of his chest that swelled with breath. He raised an eyebrow as if waiting for Keith to provide an explanation. “We had plans to meet thirty doboshes ago, Keith,” Lance huffed.

“Patrol duty,” Keith grumbled, rubbing a hand down his face as his mind raced with a thousand possible outcomes of the day.

Lance sighed exaggeratingly, uncrossing his arms so he could pretend to pick something out from under his pointed nails. “Yeah, Allura assigned us as scouts today, and now thanks to someone, we don’t have time for breakfast.”

Thoughts stumbling, Keith flicked his tail until he was wading straight-backed with his shoulders steadied.

“Sorry,” he ran a hand through his hair and debated on how to word this so that it would seem as natural as possible. “You guys can go get breakfast while I start patrol. I’ll meet you along the route.”

Lance snorted and rolled his eyes, catching Hunk’s gaze. The yellow paladin placed a calming hand on Lance’s slender shoulder, fingertips brushing the scales that dotted his collarbones.

“Like Allura wouldn’t punish us for skipping out on scout duty like some guppy,” Lance groaned under his breath, leaning into Hunk’s touch.

“Let’s head out then. We don’t want to be later than we already are.” Hunk smiled, brushing a gentle hand over Lance’s lower back, guiding him out of Keith’s room with comfortable fingers.

With a sharp flick of his tail, Keith followed them out of the cavern, enjoying the salty sting to gills and the freedom of the ocean.

A heaviness hardened his heart as he watched Lance laugh, flipping on his back so that the delicate edges of his tailfin could brush Hunk’s. There was this softness to Hunk’s features as he looked at Lance, tender fingertips brushing back his bangs. It was such an unfamiliar expression, an openness that Keith surely wasn’t meant to witness, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

“Is that Pidge?” Lance asked, spinning so that he could watch a glimmer of her tail disappear in the vastness of the ocean.

Lance rushed after her with the swift flip of his tailfin, and Keith was forced to follow, forced to watch the way destiny played out, forced to taste Lance’s blood in the water.

His only solution was to get himself on that damn boat and stop this whole kidnapping before it could start. He bared his pointed teeth at the thought of ripping through the thin skin of Sendak’s throat, the pleasant taste of flesh once again on his tongue.

Shivering violently from the idea, Keith watched Sendak call Pidge to the boat, negotiating the deal as the sailors secretly prepped the harpoon gun. He was frozen as the harpoon pierced the water and struck Lance in the shoulder, dragging him out of the rocking ocean with a trill of pain.

Keith scaled the side of the boat with rough nails and a vicious snarl, ignoring the panicked calls from Hunk and Pidge. With the bark of a laugh, Sendak plucked him from the hull with his hooked hand, digging into muscle and flesh and throwing him across the deck.

Gills fluttering against his throat, he slowly Turned. His limbs splayed out in front of Lance, trembling and weak but filled with the desperate desire to protect the merman behind him.

With a sadistic smile, Sendak plucked the harpoon gun from one of his sailors. “Haggar said she only needs one fish. So why don’t we play a little game?” He cocked the gun and aimed it steadily at Keith’s chest, his heart thundering within.

Lance clamped his shaking hands on Keith’s damp skin, nails biting into tender flesh.

“Will the brave fish give his life for little bluefin?” Sendak laughed, a dark and twisted chortle that gurgled in his throat. Several sailors stepped forward, pulling out coin pouches and shouting bets left and right.

Steadying himself, Keith pushed Lance’s hands off him and turned his gaze over his shoulder to meet those oceanic eyes.

“Keith,” Lance breathed, fear curling in the furrow of his brow and the tremble of his bottom lip. “Don’t do this.”

“Three!” Sendak shouted, counting down over the rush of the waves against the hull.

Sending Lance a soft smile, Keith stiffened and turned to face Sendak -- unwilling to look at Lance’s face when the harpoon pierced his sternum and sent him reeling into another day. Gritting his teeth, he lifted his chin to meet Sendak’s glimmering eyes.

“Two!”

“Keith! Why are you doing this?” Lance screamed as he wrapped his arms around Keith’s waist, pressing his chest against his back. “I won’t let you do this!”

Keith could picture the way the harpoon would sink through his flesh and bury next to Lance’s heart. Neither of them would survive if the gun was fired while Lance clung to him.

Did he let Lance die with him? Did he prevent the impending torture that awaited Lance at the hands of Haggar -- plucking off every scale and smashing his teeth to blunted edges?

But if he saved Lance, would there be a possibility that Lance survived, jumping from the deck in the confusion?

Without a thought, Keith spun on his knees and shoved Lance off him at Sendak’s shout of “One!”

Because even if it was the smart thing, Keith couldn’t be the cause of Lance’s death again.

Lightning cut through his chest, searing his nerves and punching the air from his lungs. Staggering forward, he placed a hand on Lance’s shoulder. His other hand fell to his side as his gaze was drawn to the point of the harpoon, jutting from his sternum. Parting his lips, he attempted to stutter a response, but blood dribbled from his mouth as the last of his breath wheezed from his lungs.

Collapsing against Lance, he wanted to relish in the gentle warmth of Lance’s skin, but his mind was fading and every sensation became a numbing tingle.

The last Keith heard was Lance’s soft whimper, “Keith.”

  


**~~~~**

  


The next day, Keith watched Pidge break the surface with a bloom of anxiety in his stomach. A familiar uncurling of dread that he’d become so accustomed to all those days ago in the Castle of Lions with the quiet purr of Red in his ear and the distant laughter of his friends.

With a determined flip of his tail -- the tail meant for speed and agility -- Keith attempted to shove Lance out of the way as the harpoon pierced the surface, leaving a trail of bubbles in its wake. His palms connected with heated flesh before pain tore through his stomach.

The harpoon jutted through Lance’s bicep, shattering the bone, and ended in the pit of Keith’s stomach. There was no exit wound, the tip of the harpoon nestled in Keith’s organs. Blood saturated the water in dusty wisps. Keith could taste it on his gills, sticking to the thin skin and coloring his tongue.

There was nothing beyond the pain that sung in his veins and burned with each stuttered inhale.

Electricity seared through his stomach as the harpoon was reeled in by the frantic hands of sailors.

The first breath above water was torture. His gills fluttered uselessly against his throat, desperate for air, but his body refused to Turn as the pain ignited his system and rendered him on the verge of unconsciousness.

The second they were dragged onto the deck, harpoon dislodged from his stomach and his organs tumbled out after it. They squirmed outside of his body, writhing as he struggled for air -- pointed nails piercing his flesh as if to sew it back together.

Breath stilled in his chest, a cough unable to part his salty lips. His eyes went glassy at the sight of Lance, scrambling across the deck on weak knees. The distant warmth of his palms rocked Keith back to sleep.

  


**~~~~**

  


Unfortunately, the next days seemed to follow the same pattern.

  


**~~~~**

  


He woke to unbridled rage and the ache of hunger in his stomach.

He chased Lance upon the deck of the ship, crawling across the wood with clawed hands. He fought the Turn that threatened to suffocate him when his gills suck to the thin skin of his neck. With a growl, he charged forward, tail thrashing behind him and knocking sailors overboard.

Snatching Sendak by the ankle, Keith yanked him down to the deck and sunk his sharp teeth into his throat. Blood, like copper and ash and ecstasy, flooded his mouth as flaps of flesh dangled between his teeth. A fumbling hand threaded through his hair, attempting to pull him from the feast of tender flesh before him. But that hand soon sank to the deck.

Keith tipped his head back and trilled with victory as blood gurgled in his throat.

There was a haze of memory, of a hunger finally sated, and as he met Lance’s terrified gaze, his success soured in his stomach.

But he couldn’t care about Lance’s feelings right now — not after tearing through Sendak’s throat like dinner, relishing in the warm flesh that squirmed down his esophagus. Not after he’d succeeded in protecting Lance. Not when the hunger called to him like a siren, to pull the sailors into the water, drown them and feast on their bloated bodies, to defend his kin with any means necessary.

But before his lungs could ache for oxygen, a knife was driven under his shoulder blade and between his ribs.

The pain was nothing compared to the bleeding body of Sendak in front of him. And even as a child of the ocean, Keith desperately wanted Jowangshin’s warmth and fire as the knife was quickly pulled out, leaving him to die with stuttering breaths beside the captain. Nothing more than a hassle for those sailors on cleaning duty.

He was left like trash on the deck, to bake in the breaking sunlight.

He could still taste the lingering copper of Sendak’s blood on his tongue the next morning. And he couldn’t find it in himself to admonish the twisted sense of victory that thrummed in his heart.

  


**~~~~**

  


The twisted pattern was shattered when Lance was unable to throw the Quintessence overboard, and Sendak played with the strings of seaweed that dangled from Pidge’s bag. His singular eye was greedy, lingering on Lance’s long legs and Keith’s body, perched in front of him.

Sendak’s smirk was dangerous as he rubbed the sandy residue of Quintessence between his fingers. “Do you know what’s so special about Quintessence?” The growl of his voice made several of his own sailors straighten and eye each other with fear.

“You monster,” Lance hissed behind Keith, teeth still pointed and snapping savagely.

“Yes, yes, I know that it supposedly binds your souls together, little bluefin. Some kind of soulmate ritual if I’m correct.” Sendak just smiled, knowing full well that he was right and relishing in the fury rising in Lance’s cheeks. “But for humans it’s completely different,” and there was that twisting, dark smile that sent shivers coursing up Keith’s naked body. “Haxus.”

“Yes, sir!” Haxus saluted from his position in the group of sailors gathered on the deck. With the soft coxing of Sendak’s fingers, Haxus stepped from the group and stood before his captain with trembling hands.

Grabbing a pinch of Quintessence, golden and shining on his fingertips, Sendak blew a puff gently against the planes of Haxus’ startled face.

Keith watched the man relax as a glassiness coated his eyes. “You are a real fish out of water, Haxus,” Sendak whispered with a chuckle, almost lost in the sea breeze.

Haxus dropped to the deck, eyes foggy and lips gasping at air that didn’t seem to satisfy him. His hands and feet flapped against the deck in panicked, jerking movements that belied desperation. There was a pallor to his face, a twisted kind of suffocation that Keith had never before witnessed -- not in all of these worlds.

Lance wrapped a hand around Keith’s wrist, for comfort or wanting to hold Keith back, he wasn’t sure.

“Send him to the water where he belongs,” Sendak ordered, tying off the Quintessence and hanging it from his belt. Several crew members scampered across the deck and threw Haxus into the cresting waves. Keith caught a glimpse of relief on Haxus’ features as he breathed in the water before splashing as sinking beneath the waves with gold-tinted bubbles rising from his parted lips.

Sendak played with the bag of Quintessence on his belt, keeping it close to him as the other sailors seem to eye him warily. “In case your fish brains didn’t understand that little demonstration, this Quintessence is a brainwashing powder. With it, we can conquer the entire world. Hold them under our thumbs and enjoy all the power and riches the world has to offer to its rightful rulers.”

With a gleeful gaze, Sendak plucked the harpoon gun from a sailor and said, “Now then, why don’t we play a little game?”

  


**~~~~**

  


Unknowingly, the days that he died on the deck, like a gaping suffocating fish, were the most peaceful of all.

  


**~~~~**

  


Everyday seemed to follow the exact same script: Sendak calling to Pidge from the boat, the deal, the way Lance pushed Pidge out of the way, the harpoon sinking deep into his shoulder and tainting the water with his blood.

And finally Keith decided to break the damned cycle he’d initiated on the second day in this underwater hell.

He simply watched Lance’s body flail through the water as he was hoisted out of the water -- well not _simply_ , because he couldn’t fight the nausea and the knowledge that threatened to strangle him. Rather than attacking the Galra on the boat, he would track them down like that first day. He would march onto that island with weapons and a bloodthirst that Jowangshin couldn’t even hope to sate.

So he kept his mouth shut when Allura inspected the bag of Quintessence, staring Pidge down as she explained her actions, shame coloring her features. The firmness to her tone was the same, the care furrowing her brows as she threatened to lock them up if they dared to rescue Lance.

Smacking Hunk with the broad side of his fin, Keith silenced his protest with a narrowed gaze, jaw set and eyes belying his true intentions.

“East side weapons room in ten,” Keith whispered as they waded out of the throne room.

Hunk nodded and darted down the other hallway, unable to mask the fury that painted his features. Following the sound of sobs, Keith turned the opposite direction of Hunk and smiled when he saw Rolo and Nyma huddled by a large coral pillar.

“Rolo,” Keith called, drawing the merman’s attention from Nyma, trembling in his arms. Her eyes were red rimmed and her nails dug into Rolo’s biceps as if to keep her tethered to reality. Wisps of her golden hair seemed to catch on the edges of the scales that dotted her cheekbones, framing her face like a nimbus that did nothing to bely her calculating nature.

Keith opened his mouth, but Rolo cut him off with a smirk. “I already know there’s no way you’re listening to the Queen’s orders. Where are we meeting?”

“East side weapons room. Ten minu--dobashes,” he caught himself, watching the way Nyma straightened in Rolo’s arms.

Shaking her head slightly, Nyma pulled herself from Rolo’s supporting grip, tightening her hands into fists at her sides. Settling her shoulders, she met Keith’s eyes and announced, “I’m coming.”

Keith fought the urge to laugh, but couldn’t stop the small exhale from his nose.

Because he had seen Nyma before. Watched the way she’d flirted her way into Lance’s lion. Watched the way she giggled behind delicate gloves and batted her eyelash as she traced patterns of poison down Lance’s skin. Watched the way her calculating eyes drifted over his body, analyzing him for his greatest weakness.

How would this universe be any different?

Eyes wide, Rolo turned to look at her. “Nyma --”

“I’m going!” She clenched her fists and closed her eyes. “Lance -- Lance is my best friend! And I won’t -- I,” she steadied herself, opening her eyes with a flash of determination Keith had never seen from her. He crossed his arms and rolled his eyes as Nyma turned her persuasions on Rolo, as if he was the one that needed to approve of her coming along. “I won’t rely on others to save him for me.”

She floated slightly above Rolo, looking down at him with a hardened expression that spoke of exponential loss -- an expression that Keith refused to acknowledge. Because whatever she lost couldn’t compare to what she’d taken.

How could a speech change his mind about the woman who had killed Lance with a single touch? Had killed him with a kiss?

“We will meet you there, Keith,” Nyma declared, eyes still fixated on Rolo as if asking him to challenge her.

But before she could swim off, Keith grabbed her arm, surprised at the delicateness of her bones beneath his grip. Tugging her to his chest, he growled in her ear, “There is no way in hell that you are coming with us, Nyma. Stay here or I will get Allura to throw you in prison.”

He didn’t mention how he would enjoy watching her rot.

Nyma stiffly nodded in response, tugging her arm to her chest when Keith finally released his grip. With the flick of his tail, Keith traveled down the hallway, ignoring the hushed tones of Rolo’s voice, worried and harsh.

Little did he know, nothing would change. Lance was still in that box, plucked of his scales, eyes glossy and lithe fingers limp. And Keith still died in that elevator.

They were too late. Always too late.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the imagery of Keith crawling across the deck like Ursula at the climax of the little mermaid -- that little section may actually be my favorite part of this arc haha
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter!!
> 
>  
> 
> _Summary: Keith tries several different methods of saving Lance this chapter, all of which involving getting on the boat right after Lance is dragged on. They all result in failures -- however, Keith does learn why the Galra want Quintessence. It works like a mind control drug to those that breath it in. At the end, Keith attempts to follow the same plan he did the first day, but that also ends with failure._
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you all so much for your wonderful comments! They really and truly make my day ~~and I also squeal to my friends about them and how nice you all are haha~~ (≧◡≦) ♡


	49. Intermission: The Sight of a Million Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> small warning: suicide and attempted suicide are featured in this chapter; please stay safe <3

He opened his eyes to see Keith slumped against the training room wall with Pidge by his side. She was typing on her computer, pushing her glasses up as they slid down her nose. Keith’s chest rose and fell as if he was dreaming peacefully, that small smile Lance was now so familiar with was on his features. His bangs curled around his cheekbones as if desperate for someone to tuck them behind his ears.

As he reached out, Keith woke, blinking his eyes open but they were glossy, unseeing even to the dream world around him.

Pidge didn’t glance up from her computer as she commented, “I won’t tell Allura if you won’t.”

Keith flinched at the sound of her voice, rolling out his neck and stumbling to his feet. Lance tilted his head, desperate to catch Keith’s eyes again, to see that distance, that blind nature to his pupils.

Nodding slightly to Pidge’s words, Keith walked out of the training room, prying the doors apart and slipping through.

Lance stepped through the doors and followed the red paladin in his slow walk down the hallway.

“Keith, buddy,” Lance called out even though he was aware this was another one of those dreams where he was merely an observer -- but now he was desperately missing the gentle calm of the window scene: the softness to Keith’s features, the tranquility.

Keith shrugged off his jacket and dropped it to the floor. Toeing off his shoes, he tugged off his socks with that same glossiness to his eyes like his mind was bound elsewhere, tethered to another reality, another dream.

Without hesitation, he continued padding down the hallway in just his shirt and pants.

Lance crossed his arms and walked beside the red paladin, constantly leaning forward to meet Keith’s glossy eyes. At the sound of a yawn, Lance looked up and saw himself dressed in his blue paladin pajamas.

There was something so achingly familiar about watching himself interact with Keith; the overwhelming sense of deja vu made him sick to his stomach.

“Keith?” The dream Lance called out, echoing around Lance’s mind like a staticy voicemail.

But Keith kept walking down the familiar hallway, deaf to both Lance’s words. Kept walking towards the airlock door.

“Very funny, Keith,” Lance sighed, crossing his arms and bound to only be an observer in this dream. He could still remember the day that the Castle of Lions sought to kill them, trapping Lance in an airlock. Without Keith, he would have been lost to the weightlessness of space.

But the Keith before him didn’t seem to register anything other than the door before him. Shutting the outer door, Keith walked towards the button. A desperate resignation to his features as he reached out.

“Keith!” Lance screamed, mimicking the dream Lance that sprinted to the door and pounded on it with frantic fists.

Reaching out, Lance felt his hands go right through Keith, unable to touch him or snap him out of whatever daze he was in. “Keith, snap out of it,” he growled. “What are you even trying to do?!”

Lance stood in front of the release button, arms crossed and firm set to his features -- even though his mind whispered how futile this was. It was a dream, and he was unable to alter it, forced to be a spectator as it turned into a nightmare.

Keith tilted his head like he heard the panicked pounding on the door and the screams from the dream Lance. But rather than acknowledging him, Keith just reached for the button that would release the airlock. His hand sunk through Lance’s flesh, sending tendrils of cold through his body, and pressed the button.

Lance watched the horror on his own face as the vacuum sucked Keith out to space, turning his blood to ice and killing him in seconds.

“Keith!” Lance screamed, throat hoarse as he jolted up in bed. Biting his trembling lip, Lance attempted to hold in a sob. The haunting hopelessness -- that had settled across his shoulders the second Keith was placed into the cryopod -- burned brightly and threatened to turn him to ash. Burying his face in Keith’s pillow, Lance silenced his tears and longed to smell the faded cinnamon and cloves that once saturated these sheets.

Red purred in the back of his mind, comforting him as if she understood exactly what he was going through.

  


**~~~~**

He wandered out of the bedroom an hour later with puffy eyes and a weakness to his limbs.

Yanking the alien coffee out of the fridge, Lance threw it into the Altean version of a microwave, desperate for any kind of comfort right now. And right now he needed caffeine and the promise of avoiding sleep. He was already nestled in his robe and slippers, but it wasn’t enough to ward of the chill of space that seeped into his bones during his nightmare.

Shiro walked through the kitchen door with that same exhausted expression and furrowed brow. Scratching at the back of his neck, Shiro yawned and asked, “You making coffee?”

“Yeah,” Lance mumbled, pouring the coffee into two mugs before tossing the warm remnants back into the fridge.

They both leaned against the counter as they slowly sipped their coffee. Lance cupped his hands around the mug, enjoying the warmth while tapping his fingernails against the sides in an unsteady rhythm.

“Shiro,” Lance began, and Shiro hummed in response, “I had a nightmare last night.”

The black paladin gave Lance a half-hearted smile, and the bags under his eyes said that he understood exactly what Lance was talking about.

“It was about Keith throwing himself out of the airlock,” Lance mumbled. His gaze dropped to the steam curling from his cup, unable to meet Shiro’s gaze as he continued, “I can’t stop thinking about how we all saw something before Keith s--sacrificed himself. And you said that you saw Keith throw himself out of the airlock, and now I’m seeing it too.”

“Can you tell me exactly what you saw?”

Nodding, Lance began detailing every realistic detail of his nightmare.

  


**~~~~**

  


“I don’t understand,” Pidge began, tapping a random rhythm out against the top of her laptop. “You’ve been dreaming about Keith.” Her tone was clipped, misunderstanding the significance because hadn’t they all been dreaming about Keith, fixated on the horrors that appeared before their eyes and disappeared in a breath?

Shaking his head, Lance dug his fingernails into his thighs as if to stop the chill from creeping back into his muscles. “No, I mean I dreamed about Keith jumping out of the airlock. The same thing that Shiro saw right before Keith,” he swallowed around the word, “sacrificed himself.”

“So?”

“The exact same way,” Lance reiterated, leaning forward and pinning Pidge with his gaze.

She flipped open her laptop as if ready to take notes. “What else have you dreamed about?”

“Normally it’s Keith and I sitting in a windowsill and talking,” Lance confessed as he struggled to remember the warmth of those dreams, the desperate longing that thrummed through him with every breath. “This has been the first time I’ve seen something like this.”

“But it was exactly the way you remember it, Shiro?” Pidge turned her eyes to Shiro, fingers poised to type.

Shiro nodded stiffly.

“Any idea what it means?” Lance asked after Pidge stopped typing.

Shaking her head, she lifted her gaze from her screen. “I have no idea.” Her smile was weak as struggled with a playful tone, “Go have some more dreams so I can have more data to work with.”

Lance chuckled and fought off the shiver that course the length of his spine.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, if you were wondering, this title of this chapter is a little nod to chapter four!
> 
> ALSO who is _not_ ready for Season 8, the final season?? Because my heart is _not_ ready for all of this!!! (╥﹏╥)
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and leaving me kudos and comments <3 I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> Oh also, you can follow me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com) if it doesn't self-destruct in a couple days!


	50. Well, Have You Lost Your Courage?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy y'all ~~
> 
> The chapter title is taken from Hans Christian Anderson's "The Little Mermaid"
> 
> small warning for this chapter: there is a mention of suicide and a depiction of it in this chapter. If you wish to skip it, stop reading at "Haggar stood tall, face tilted to the sky" and begin again at the start of the next paragraph! Stay safe <3

“I need to do something differently,” Keith grumbled as he followed Hunk back to the castle, Pidge falling behind with every flip of their tails. The taste of Lance’s blood still stuck to his gills. “There has to be a better approach.”

Chewing on the end of his pointed nails, Keith was absorbed in his thoughts rather than the familiar scene playing out before him: Allura threw the bag of Quintessence to the ground and a plume of golden dust blew out.

“So for two dead mermen, you hand deliver an atrocious amount of Quintessence and another merman?” Allura hissed.

Quintessence?

Sendak said that Quintessence worked like a mind control powder. Would Keith be able to control the minds of the soldiers with just a simple puff?

A devilish smile crossed his features as he plotted how to get his hands on the bag.

After they had been dismissed from the throne room, Keith spent the next ten minutes wandering around the castle, looking for the exit that would lead him back home before he had to turn tail and swim to the weapons room -- but he just ended up lost until he literally swam into Shiro.

“Keith,” he breathed, singular hand catching Keith’s bicep in a tender grip. With the tentative brush of his fins against Keith’s, he drew the red paladin’s gaze to his eyes. “What’re you still --” but he cut himself off as the openness of his features hardened into something disapproving and almost violent. “You’re going after Lance aren’t you?”

Keith ground his teeth, throat straining for an excuse or a lie that Shiro wouldn’t see right through.

“Where are you meeting the others?”

Gasping enough to ruffle his gills, Keith protested, “There aren’t --”

“I’m not an idiot, Keith.” He released his grip on Keith’s arm, fingers then running through the white plume of hair that flowed in front of his eyes. “There’s no way Hunk would let someone else go save his ya’aburnee.”

Closing his parted lips, Keith finally avoided Shiro’s watchful gaze, a gaze that could read all of this thoughts in any reality.

“Where are you meeting?”

“East side weapons room,” Keith grumbled, hiding behind the wisps of hair the current played with. He was unwilling to meet Shiro’s eyes as a smirk crossed his best friend’s features.

Keith just hoped he wouldn’t be forced to knock Shiro out, again.

And because destiny or fate or whatever was controlling his spiral through time loved to make him suffer, Keith did have to knock Shiro out, leaving him laying in the soft sand of the weapons room.

Keith was convinced Quintessence would be the key to saving Lance, and he growled at having to leave it behind. Neither Hunk nor Rolo knew of anyway to take it from the Queen’s possession.

They were too late again.

  


**~~~~**

  


“I’m going!” Nyma snapped, hair flowing around her in golden tendrils like sunlight. “Lance is my best friend --”

“You’re not going,” Keith growled, fury building in his chest to a rising bonfire, indignant and justified. His tongue longed to lash all the poison that had killed him before, to watch her vomit across the sand and writhe in the same pain Lance had endured. Instead with a deepening scowl, he buried his pride and huffed a sigh. “But we do need help.” The words tasted like her kiss, poisoned and desperate.

The petulant expression on her face shifted, not exactly happy but more than willing to help.

“Anything.”

“We need the Quintessence Pidge gathered.”

Nyma stiffened, fins stilling in the water and gills sticking to her neck. “Quintessence?”

“It can brainwash humans,” Keith said as the only explanation.

“But --”

“Can you get it or not, Nyma?” Keith snapped, bearing his teeth and longing for the taste of flesh on his tongue once again. His hunger whispered that tomorrow he could sink his teeth into Sendak’s flesh if he climbed the boat once again. What was another day if it meant sating this hunger?

Nyma’s voice jolted him out of the downward spiral of his thoughts. “I can get it.”

“Good.”

  


**~~~~**

  


Rolo stood guard outside the elevator while Keith and Hunk walked with weapons hidden behind their backs. The elevator doors slowly opened to show a large tank immediately in front of them. With a flash of orange scales, Matt’s face pressed against the glass. He scratched his nails against the edge of the tank with wide eyes and a panicked trill.

Hunk rushed forward, examining the equipment while searching the area for a glimpse of blue in the dull metal of the Galra fortress.

Cautiously stepping out of the elevator, Keith scanned the area for any Galra, but this section of the lab was surprisingly empty. They had come through the service elevator, meaning that Haggar kept Matt at the back of the lab, more interested with her new toys.

Glancing over the technology attached to the tank, with the screens constantly processing new data, Keith pressed several buttons that drained the water from the tank.

Matt’s eyes flashed over them and the scars that lined their necks, the remnants of their gills that didn’t fade with the Turn. Floating to the surface of the draining water, Matt struggled to breath air and Turn at a moment’s notice.

Grabbing Hunk’s sleeve, Keith dragged him and whispered in his ear, “Stay with Matt. I’m going to explore the rest of the lab.”

Hunk bared his teeth but didn’t say anything else as Keith stepped forward, much too quiet for someone so unfamiliar with the surface. The Quintessence was a heavy weight under his jacket, ready to use it in any way to free Lance from this prison.

Weaving through benchtops with machines piled to the ceilings, Keith heard muttered talking and a muted trill. The dagger in his hand felt familiar as he crouched, moving silently closer as the voice grew steadily louder.

“If only you’d cooperated,” a stern voice scolded, making shivers traverse the length of his spine.

Peering around the edge of a workbench, Keith saw Lance submerged in an aquarium similar to Matt’s. It was square and barely allowed Lance enough room to stretch his tail. Restraints were tied around his wrists, binding him to the sides of the tank. Clawing at the glass with pointed nails, Lance’s eyes widened in terror, fixated on the woman before him.

A woman stood over his tank, running a hand along the top. Her white hair was pulled back in a sleek bun. Under her narrowed eyes were parallel scars that ran down her cheekbones to her jaw, reminiscent of Altean markings. There was a madness to her gaze that Keith hated to sympathize with.

She must be this universe’s version of the witch, Haggar.

With a smile, Haggar pressed a series of buttons and robotic arms extended from the small computer at the edge of the tank. They reached out and plucked off another scale, a glittering blue jewel in the flapping mound of gouged flesh.

Lance reared his head back with a scream, muted by the inches of water around him, but Keith heard it in every horrifying detail. He saw the way they’d shattered Lance’s teeth to blunt edges and felt revulsion curl in his stomach. Thankfully they had gotten there before Haggar had plucked all of the scales from Lance’s flesh and killed him without remorse.

Glancing around the lab for any other soldiers, Keith pulled the bag of Quintessence from his jacket and grabbed a handful of the gritty powder. Some slipped between his fingers as he stood up and approached the tank.

Haggar’s eyes were quickly drawn to him. “What are you doing here? This area is strictly off limits for cadets.”

Lance turned terrified eyes on him, only to let out a trill of distress, begging Keith to leave to get to safety. But there was no way in hell Keith was leaving without Lance.

The only way he was getting out of here was with Lance or wheeled in a cart of his own.

Keith threw the handful of Quintessence into Haggar’s face. A satisfied smile crept up his face as the rage that had twisted her features transformed into a relaxed mask. Keith growled, “Forget about mermaids.”

His gaze dropped to Lance as a wisp of blood colored the water, leaking from the new wound in his tail.

“Kill every person who worked under you and then kill yourself.” He barely recognized the feral growl to his voice, the animalistic need to punish those who had hurt his kin.

Haggar nodded, picking up a scalpel from a workbench and marching towards the main entrance elevator.

Without giving her a second thought, Keith rushed to the computer, smashing it to pieces with the hilt of his dagger. He pressed a hand to the tank, and Lance struggled to unclench his hands and place it on the glass.

“I’m going to break the tank. Close your eyes.”

Keith smashed the hilt of the dagger against the tank, watching cracks spread like spider webs over the top until like the sound of thunder, water spilled along the floor.

Lance arched his back with a gasping inhale, Turning immediately. There were gouges littering the tanned flesh of his legs, blood dissipating in the water that still swirled around him.

Sitting up and clawing at Keith’s jacket, Lance breathed, “Hunk?” Keith’s heart froze, shattering in a million pieces when Lance glanced around him look for his soulmate, the soulmate that would sacrifice anything to rescue him. “Where’s Hunk?”

Gritting his teeth, Keith swallowed the ache of tears at the back of his throat. Before he could say anything else, Hunk rounded the corner. The harshness that had twisted his features the moment the harpoon pierced the water and dragged Lance to shore disappeared at the sight of Lance -- naked and kneeling in a shattered tank, water stained a light pink from the bleeding wounds on his legs.

Charging forward, Hunk wrapped Lance in his arms and crushed him to his broad chest. Lance grappled for a grip on his ya’aburnee, fingers catching on the seams of the sailor’s uniform. His sobs were muffled trills.

“Lance, ya’aburnee, I’m here. You’re safe now,” Hunk whispered against Lance’s hair, fingers digging into Lance’s muscles as if to make sure he was real and not the figment of some dream.

Keith squeezed his eyes clothes and exhaled forcefully.

The sound of footsteps made him glance up, dagger at the ready. But it was Matt who leaned against one of the benches, face pale and ribs showing with every inhale. Keith rushed to his side, supporting him with one arm.

“Not to break this up, but we have to go,” Keith whispered over the stifled cries.

Without looking back, Keith marched forward, and Matt felt fragile against him with every step. They arrived at the service elevator, and Keith pressed the button, waiting as the lights flickered, indicating the floor.

He chewed on his lip, wishing that he didn’t have to support Matt and he could have both hands at his disposal.

The elevator doors opened, and no guards appeared from within. It seemed that Haggar had caused enough disturbance for them to escape.

After pushing them inside the elevator, Keith was about to follow when he saw a familiar cart partially hidden by Matt’s, now empty, tank.

“Hold the door,” he commanded before sprinting to the cart and dragging it into the small elevator.

Hunk’s brow furrowed, hands digging deeper into Lance’s hip. “What’s --”

“Matt, Lance, get in and Turn.” Keith directed, eyes darting to the quickly passing floors, each second bringing them closer to Rolo and the rest of the Galra. “It’ll be a good cover.”

Turning to face them, he saw the hesitation in their eyes as they gazed into the box. Matt looked positively terrified, body curled into the farthest corner of the elevator. Keith gritted his teeth, and tried not to yell because there was something so telling by the fact they hadn’t found Sam Holt. But they only had so much time.

“Get in the fucking cart,” Keith growled just as the elevator decelerated at the ground floor.

Lance hopped in without another word and reached for Matt’s hands, guiding him into the box with a calm and supportive smile.

Keith gripped the dagger tighter in his hands and held his breath as the doors parted slowly. Swallowing harshly, Keith peered out through the parting doors anxious of what could await them. But all Keith saw was Rolo relax at the sight of them.

“We found them.” Keith whispered, pulling the cart out of the elevator and calmly walked down the hallway. Hunk and Rolo stood to either side with watchful eyes and tense shoulders.

“Keith,” Lance slurred, voice distorted by the cracked teeth that persisted even in his human form.

Keith shushed him, listening for the sound of marching footsteps and screaming guards.

Unfortunately before he could hear the sound of their pursuers, a loud alarm sounded throughout the building, echoing off the metal walls. “Code Beta Two Niner,” a voice repeated between the bursts of the alarm.

“Fuck,” Keith breathed, pushing the cart faster and motioning for Hunk and Rolo to open the doors they had originally come through.

They burst into the quartyard only to see the portcullis close, separating them from the sea and locking them within the fortress. Tears gathered in Keith’s eyes as he gazed up at the sides of the building around them. Archers gathered at every embrasure that lined the top of the walls, arrows notched and gazes fixed on them in their ill-fitting uniforms.

Lance reached a hand out of the box to grab hold of Hunk, body trembling and not from the sudden chill in the twilight air.

Keith stepped forward, dagger heavy in his hands and dread heavy in his stomach. But he knew that there was little he could do against twenty archers.

If only Jowangshin was here. Keith would let her flames devour him once again if he could just feel her power at the tips of his fingers. To taste victory on his tongue like ash and blood. To feel her curl in his mind and whisper stories of her world.

Keith shifted his stance, ready to run and ready to fight as he waited for that first arrow to fly, signaling the painful death that awaited them.

A scream sounded from across the quartyard, pulling Keith’s gaze to a door across the fortress. A young man in a sailor’s outfit sprinted through the doors only to trip on the uneven ground. Scrambling to his feet, his eyes were drawn to the darkness within the building. Keith’s hand tightened on his dagger, because this soldier was terrified: shoulders trembling and tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

The Galra must have released a beast to kill them in the most entertaining way, not caring if their own got caught in the crossfire.

But he saw a flash of starlight hair and a twisted smile of vengeance rather than a beastily body. Haggar stepped into the sunlight, twilight illuminating specks of gold on the darkened curl of her features. She paused in the threshold as if analyzing the situation before she charged the boy like a wild animal, scalpel bloody and bent in her fingers.

The boy’s scream was cut off as the woman pounced on him, pinning him to the earth and pulling his head up by his short hair. With a satisfied smile, she slit his throat and dipped her head back in an animalistic cheer.

Keith glanced at the archers, watching their arrows dip and their bows loosen, distracted by the woman they once called boss.

“Get inside,” Keith growled back at his teammates, unmoving and determined to have his last stand in his quartyard. “Take the Quintessence and throw it any Galra’s face. You can command them to do anything.”

There was a hesitation in the group behind him, possibly struggling to leave him behind.

“Take it and go,” Keith hissed.

A trembling hand, lithe fingers he knew so well, reached down the collar of Keith’s jacket and pulled out Pidge’s braided, seaweed bag. Keith could still feel the heat of those fingers as he stood perfectly still, watching the scene before him.

Haggar stood tall, face tilted to the sky. With a soft smile, she jerkily dragged the bloody scalpel against her throat, splitting the skin and drenching the front of her shirt in blood. She dropped to the ground with the crash of waves against the shore.

And suddenly all the arrows were once again pointed at him, bows drawn and faces stern as if he had turned Haggar into this maddened beast.

He could only hope to buy his friend’s enough time.

“You’ve seen what kind of power Quintessence has on your humankind,” Keith shouted, keeping still as he looked to every Galra that surrounded him. “And yet you give it these people that would kill and slaughter you with the slightest command. You are nothing but fools and slaves at --”

His words were choked as an arrow lodged in his throat, silencing him and sending him toppling to the ground.

He wished for the warmth of Jowangshin’s fire as he felt the blood seep from his wound and into the earth.

  


**~~~~**

  


Even with the Quintessence, the only thing that changed was that they got to the lab a little sooner. But no matter what he commanded Haggar to do -- disable the alarms, keep the portcullis open, aid in their escape -- nothing worked.

And every day, Nyma begged to come along. And every day, her pleas sounded more and more genuine. Was it the tears that glistened in her eyes? The desperate nature to her clawing hands? The offer to do anything as long as Lance returned home?

“Why do you want to come?” Keith snapped, watching the way Nyma’s hair drifted with the currents. She turned her gaze from Rolo to pin him with eyes like amethysts.

“He’s my best friend,” she said as if it was the most obvious answer. Crossing her arms, she tilted her head to the side, eyes narrowed and lip curled in a snarl, daring him to challenge her on the basic premise of friendship.

Squeezing his eyes closed, Keith could picture Nyma’s face every time she poisoned Lance. No remorse. Or her expression when he’d knocked on her door, that calculating gleam in her eyes before she pulled him into a poisoned kiss.

Gritting his teeth, Keith snapped his eyes open and met Nyma’s gaze.

“Fine. You can come.” He was about to turn tail and flee to the weapons room when he remembered a crucial detail of his plan. Pivoting to face Nyma and Rolo, Keith said, “But there’s one thing you need to get us first.”

  


**~~~~**

  


If he knew that the tension between Rolo and Nyma would be unbearable, he would have continued to reject her pleas to attend this mission. He didn’t need his spark of familiarity to tell him that Rolo and Nyma were close to becoming ya’aburnee. Rolo’s fins seemed to bristle with protectiveness at every turn, and Nyma, ever the independent spirit, hissed every time Rolo jumped in front of her.

But Keith tried to pay them no mind, plotting a new way to finally free Lance and Matt from the Galra without becoming prisoners themselves.

  


**~~~~**

  


The sailor uniforms were as starched and uncomfortable as Keith remembered, sleeves too short and shoes too small. However with Nyma’s presence, the boys seemed to complain less about the situation, all attention focused on Lance and rescuing him before Haggar could even tear a single scale from his flesh.

Marching down the dock, Keith pulled Nyma to his side, fingers digging into her hip as he nosed against the slender column of her neck. Stiffening against his touch, her nails dug into his hand as if a warning to let go. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against her hair, “but please just play along.”

Relaxing against his grasp, Nyma smiled brightly, chuckling under her breath but loud enough that the guard on watch could hear them. And this time he didn’t even question why they stayed on the boat so long after docking. The sailor’s eyes traveled the length of Nyma’s body, hidden by the thick material of the uniform, and Keith could feel her shiver under his arm.

When they entered the dimly light hallway, Keith unsnapped the top two buttons of the coat, pulling the mermaid dagger from his waistband.

“Let’s go,” he growled, marching down the hallway.

He could practically smell the familiar briny scent of Lance’s body saturating the air.

He heard muffled whispers under the sound of their following footsteps, echoing steadily behind him.

“Keith,” Nyma’s voice was a whisper that he answered with a quick glance over his shoulder. With narrowed eyes, she looked him over, trepidation clear on her features. “How do you know where to go?”

Rolo stood at her side, fists clenched and distrust carved deep into the lines of his features -- a distrust that had never been there before.

“It doesn’t matter as long as we find Lance,” Hunk interrupted, the steely determination something Keith was so unused to, a viciousness that threatened to shift his teeth back into the beastly fierceness that could tear through flesh.

Nyma stopped, turning her entire body to face Hunk, shoulders squared and the muscles in her neck jumping with anger. “It matters because if he’s working with the Galra, he could be leading us directly into a trap!”

“No one’s ever been inside this facility,” Rolo commented, asserting his authority as a member of the scouts, but there was a whisper of doubt in his voice that he couldn’t hide. His suspicious gaze flicked between Keith and Hunk as the yellow paladin strode forward.

Nodding to Keith, Hunk ignored Rolo and Nyma and stated, “Lead the way.”

“Keith,” Nyma demanded before he could continue down the hallway.

With a sigh, he closed his eyes and immediately the sight of Lance mutilated and shoved in a cart, eyes hollow and lifeless, bombarded his thoughts. He couldn’t afford to waste anymore time.

“I wouldn’t put any of your lives at risk here if I didn’t have the information to access the facility.” Keith’s tone was barely above a growl, a low whisper that echoed down the metal hallways. “I would never leave Lance to die in a place like this.”

And in confirmation of his feelings, he could almost feel Jowangshin’s playful fire ignite within his body.

He wasn’t going to leave any merman in this building -- Matt Holt would be coming home and Haggar would pay for her deeds whether by his hand or her own.

Glancing down the hallway, he pressed the panel next to the elevator, typing in the code he had drilled into his memory: 7783. With a creaking breath, the elevator doors parted and a shiver coursed down Keith’s arms, making him flinch and squeeze the hilt of the dagger tighter.

He could almost feel the cold of the floor beneath his heated skin as the tattered edges of his flesh spilled between his fingers. That flash of orange. The desperate slam of hands against glass. A muffled cry.

“Rolo, stand watch and keep any Galra from coming down here. Say Haggar isn’t allowing anyone in her lab or something,” Keith commanded as he stepped into the elevator.

Nyma watched him as she stepped in the threshold of the elevator, unwilling to let it close as her eyes pinned him with questions. With the nod of her head, Rolo was at Keith’s side, twisting his arm behind his back until pain radiated from his shoulder and his own dagger pressed into the small of his back. If Keith tried to arch away from the dagger, the stiffness of his own shoulder prevented him with a burst of pain.

“Rolo,” Keith hissed under his breath and cursed whatever forgiving part of his soul had convinced him to believe Nyma. “We don’t have time for this!”

“You knew the code,” Nyma stated, leaning back to glance down the hallway for the sign of guards. “Explain that.”

“Inside information,” Keith grunted as Rolo’s grip on his arm tightened, sending shockwaves of electricity down his arm.

“Not good enough.”

Hunk stepped forward, irritation clear in the harshness of his voice, “We don’t have time for this, Nyma.”

Snapping at him, Nyma turned on the ball of her foot, indignation surging in her voice, “What if he had something to do with this? What if he was the one that changed the terms of Pidge’s deal with Sendak? What if Keith is the very reason Lance is here?”

And with that, Keith’s only ally left him. Hunk squared his shoulders, standing beside Nyma with a look that belied a kind of betrayal that liquified all of Keith’s organs and weakened his knees.

“Explain yourself,” Hunk demanded in a voice that was too loud for the small area of the elevator, held open on the ground floor by Hunk’s broad shoulders.

Keith dipped his chin to his chest and sagged against Rolo’s hold, wincing at the spark of pain that raced down his arm. “I don’t know how,” he whispered, voice cracking before he could bite down on his lip. “I -- I’ve done this before.”

“Captured mermaids and--” Nyma began, face contorted with rage.

Keith’s head shot up, and he wasn’t sure if it was his voice that cut her off or the look of desperation and horror that contorted his features. “No! Never.” Sighing, he clenched his hands and struggled for the right words. “I am destiny bound to save Lance. I’ve traveled between dimensions and repeated the day in order to save him. In this reality, I’ve repeated this day 34 times. All I want to do is save him.”

Disbelief coursed over their features as Nyma cast a glance Rolo. Hunk didn’t move, body poised in the threshold to the elevator, face cast in shadow.

“Any proof of this story?” Rolo asked, fingers tightening their grip on Keith’s arm. Keith winced at the pain that raced down his shoulder and tingled in the tips of his fingers.

The only proof he could think of was the sight of Lance’s mutilated body and how the dying screams of his comrades were as familiar as childhood nursery rhythms.

“Everything I could tell you would only sound like a crazy fairytale.”

How once, he could call fire to his fingertips as a goddess whispered and laughed into his mind. Or how he relished in the victory of a defeating a hundred decaying bodies, now laying scattered down the riverbed. Or how he piloted a giant robotic lion through the cosmos, laughed more than he ever had in his life, and learned to love in the long hallways of a flying castle.

“I -- I know exactly what we’ll see down there,” Keith mumbled, searching so desperately for the proof that would bring his allies back to his side while cursing Nyma’s lack of trust. “Matt will be in a tank while Lance is in another, currently being tortured by Haggar!”

Nyma snapped, “How is that supposed to make us trust --”

But Hunk stepped forward, the doors shutting behind him as the elevator slowly started descending. He pivoted so that he watched the door, waiting for the exact moment when they would open with his weapon poised in his hands.

“Hunk!” Nyma turned around, pointing a finger against his broad back. “Why would --”

“Like hell I’m going to stand around and debate the nuances of Keith’s clairvoyance if Lance is being tortured,” he growled, shoulder tensing and muscles rippling underneath the sailor’s jacket.

Keith attempted to yank his hand out of Rolo’s hold, but the merman only ended up pinning him harder against the metal wall. He tasted blood. “Hunk,” Keith breathed through the pain that lanced through his body, “take -- take the Quintessence. Throw some on Haggar and command her to stop. We could use her to escape.”

Each movement was stiff as Hunk turned and pried the woven bag from under Keith’s jacket. Clutching it in his free hand, Hunk sprinted out the doors the second they parted.

Matt looked down at them with desperation that still stole the air from his lungs.

“Matt,” Keith whimpered and struggled against Rolo’s hold, anxious to get down to business and finally free them from the confines of this Galra fortress.

Nyma snapped her fingers, walking towards Matt’s tank with a horrified reverence. Rolo’s hold disappeared, and Keith collapsed against the elevator wall long enough to catch his breath. Grasping at his aching shoulder, he stumbled from the elevator. The dagger was a strange weight in his hand after the submissive hold Rolo had on him.

Scratching at the glass walls of the tank, Matt trilled loud enough to send shivers coursing down Keith’s spine. Keith marched forward and pressed several buttons on the monitors to drain the water from the tank.

The sound of a muffled cry drew Keith’s attention across the lab. “Stay here,” he commanded, even though he was aware that he had no authority over this group any longer. Peering between the benches, Keith saw Haggar standing with gaping lips and glossy eyes while Lance kneeled in the remnants of the tank, arms wrapped around Hunk’s broad chest.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder with pointed nails that threatened to tear through the stiff fabric of his stolen uniform. Nyma leaned down and hissed in his ear, “So, let’s pretend I believe all this destiny bullshit. What happens now?”

Squeezing his eyes closed, fighting the swell of helplessness that overwhelmed him at the memory of all of his failures. “Normally we take the elevator back up to ground level and attempt to escape.”

“Attempt?”

“We never make it. The guards somehow find out that we’ve infiltrated the lab.” Keith gritted his teeth, opening his eyes to look at Haggar standing in the shattered glass of the tank. “I’ve even tried to get Haggar to disable the alarm or guide us out. But that doesn’t work either.”

Humming in response, Nyma marched forward, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. She patted Lance’s shoulder in a show of support before she devoted her attention to the dazed woman.

“Haggar, what is the easiest way to escape the island?” Nyma asked, but there was no response. “Answer me, witch!”

Stepping forward, Keith asked, “What did you command her to do, Hunk?”

“I told her to stop just like you said.” Hunk’s reply was muffled by Lance’s hair, face pressed so tightly against Lance, Keith thought he might suffocate. Hunk’s fingers trembled against Lance’s tanned skin, pressing into the muscle as if he could tether them together for eternity.

Nyma hummed once again before she turned back to Hunk’s side and plucked the Quintessence from the ground. Opening the bag, Nyma glanced at Haggar and Keith caught that familiar calculating edge to her eyes.

His body tensed, ready to snatch the Quintessence from her hands and protect his teammates from her treachery.

Instead, Nyma took a small amount of the powder and blew it across Haggar’s face, whispering, “Answer my every question truthfully and obey my commands.”

Haggar blinked several times and the life returned to her eyes, but the artificial stiffness to her posture didn’t dissipate. It was strange to see a woman normally so commanding and dominating be so docile and quiet.

Nyma’s smile twisted into something dark, something that Keith recognized within himself. The satisfaction of having the enemy at his fingertips, when the bodies of those scavengers littered the ground around him or when the stench of burnt hair and flesh saturated the sea air.

“What is the easiest way to escape the island?”

“The easiest would be to walk through the front door, disguising yourself as Galra and wheeling the mers in the cart,” Haggar stated, voice so soft that Keith’s skin crawled at every word she spoke.

“It won’t work,” Keith commented, crossing his arms to ward off the chill that had descended upon the room.

Nyma played with the edges of the bag as she continued to ask questions. “Is there any way to leave that would guarantee our safety?”

“The only safe way would be as fish bait,” Haggar mumbled as a spark of humor and darkness ignited in her eyes.

Snapping her fingers, Nyma drew Haggar back into that dazed state. Biting on her bottom lip, Nyma seemed to contemplate all the options Keith had already tried: Haggar guiding them through the facility or disabling the alarm or bringing spare uniforms for Matt and Lance.

“Is -- is there a ventilation system in this building?” Nyma asked as an idea glinted in her eyes. Rolling her shoulders back, she examined Haggar’s reaction.

“Yes, a fully automated one that pumps in warm air from the furnaces in the winter.”

Before Nyma could ask any other question, Keith cut her off, distrust bubbling like a familiar poison in his stomach. “How do you know about human ventilation systems?”

“I’m a human curator, dumbass. It’s literally my job to inspect human ruins and gather intelligence on them,” she growled before turning back to Haggar. “Do you also have a way to project our voice to all the Galra?”

“Yes, we have integrated in a speaker system for alarms and announcements.” Haggar’s eyebrow twitched as if she was fighting the effects of the Quintessence.

Nyma tapped her chin, gazing down at the golden Quintessence in her grip. “Does this Quintessence stuff last forever? Like will you always be forced to obey our orders?”

“Initial experiments show different effects with different command words. It is believed that commands that go against a person’s very nature will not last very long. An example was when a man was told to kill his wife, his resolved wavered in the middle of the act. However, commands that affect memory and comply with a person’s moral code seem to integrate fully and permanently.” Haggar seemed to clamp her lips closed, cutting off any other information that could filter through.

“Seems like you’re fighting against the commands, huh witch?” Nyma dragged a pointed nail down the scars that bisected Haggar’s cheeks, carving them anew.

Bringing her attention back to Keith, Nyma’s smile twisted deeper into her face. “I have an idea.”

  


**~~~~**

  


“This was the worst idea, ever,” Keith mumbled under his breath. He walked down the hallway alone, because he refused to put anyone else in danger -- it was his cosmic duty. Pulling at the edges of his sleeves, Keith stood straighter and marched with purpose down the hallways Haggar had described in detail.

Anxiety bubbled in his stomach at the thought that everything could go wrong at every single point of this plan. Chewing on his lip, Keith tried to curb his dread with the thought that at least Hunk and Lance were together, and Hunk would protect Lance with his very life.

But he tried not to linger on that thought: Lance’s arms wrapped so naturally around Hunk’s shoulders, calling out for him the moment Keith broke the tank, and although he never expected anything of Lance, a malliciousness nestled close to his heart.

Gritting his teeth, he marched around the corner, almost running into another soldier.

“Watch where you’re going, cadet,” a familiar voice growled, and Keith ducked his head before he could catch a glimpse of that hooked hand or the throat that had collapsed under his teeth.

Fear sunk its teeth into his bones, shaking his rib cage as he hurried forward, eyes cast downwards. Keith hoped Sendak wouldn’t recognize him or see the burning hatred in his eyes.

“Cadet,” Sendak commanded and Keith immediately stopped, shoulders hunching more dramatically. His hands clenched at his sides, seizing with adrenaline as he felt the distinct weight of the dagger hidden under his shirt.

Sendak clapped a warm hand on his shoulder, thumb brushing over Keith’s carotid artery, thundering with his pulse. His fingers dug into the meat of Keith’s shoulder, and his voice was a barked command that echoed down the hallway, “Stand up straight. We teach you better than this.”

With a harsh push, Keith stumbled forward, straightening his shoulders in the ingrained posture from the Garrison.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” Keith answered, tone sharp and volume soft. Nodding his head, Sendak continued to march down the hallway and Keith’s heart settled in his chest.

Rolling his eyes and allowing his scowl to deepen, Keith cursed under his breath, “Fuck this.”

The elevator that Haggar told him about was exactly where she said it would be, but she failed to mention that it would be surrounded by guards. Several were leaning against the walls, arms crossed and jackets unbuttoned at the top. One man casually tossed a dagger in one hand, catching it with ease and a cocky smile.

Swallowing harshly, Keith walked directly to the elevator doors with a stern expression on his face. He reached out for the button to call the elevator, only to have his hand slapped away.

“Seems this cadet doesn’t know his place,” an older Galra snapped, excitement in his tone and bloodlust in his sneer. He pushed Keith back forcing their gazes to meet in the dim lights of the hallway. “Didn’t you learn that the second-floor lounge is only for lieutenants?”

Another sailor threw an arm around Keith’s shoulders, drawing him under his arm and into the stench of sweat and briny salt. His fingers plucked at the lines on the lapels of Keith’s jacket, indicating his rank. “Seems you need to be reminded of the rules cadet,” he hissed, warm breath coasting across Keith’s ear and making him shiver.

Keith didn’t have time for this. There was a strict timeline for everything to work correctly and wasting time with half-wit soldiers was not accounted for.

“I have orders from Haggar,” Keith hissed through clenched teeth, fingers itching to sink his dagger into the sneering soldier’s throat -- or his teeth and taste the saltiness of his flesh.

The Galra tugged him closer to his chest with anything but affection, poking a finger into Keith’s cheek and chuckling without humor, “Oh, a new dog for Hagger. You have _orders_?”

The rest of the cadets snickered, darkness glinting in their eyes.

Keith’s instincts demanded that he tear through their skin and leave them bleeding so that he could get on his way.

But Lance’s voice seemed to guide him down another path. He could remember the blue paladin standing in his armor, arms crossed and a frown on his face. The rulers of this small planet they had helped stood beyond the large, throne room doors. “Keith,” he lectured, “diplomacy comes first. You can always pull out your guns if something goes wrong, but rarely can you have diplomacy if you go in guns blazing.”

Pointing a thumb against his chest, Lance smiled proudly, “Just let your blue paladin handle this one.”

Sighing sharply, Keith let his posture relax, donning a debonair smile and embodying as much of Lance’s flirtatious, boisterous attitude as he could. Huffing a laugh, he shrugged his shoulders, not hard enough to knock off the Galra’s arm. “Sure, you can keep me, but you’re going to have to explain to Hagger why her orders weren’t completed in time. I’m sure as hell not going to get on her bad side to save your asses,” Keith snorted, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms.

The arm around his shoulder stiffened before dropping back to the older Galra’s side.

The group around him seemed to stiffen at the mention of Haggar’s wrath, and only knowing her from their limited interactions, Keith was sure she was a terror.

One soldier stepped backward and the rest followed suit until there was a clear path to the elevator. Striding forward, Keith pushed the button and tapped his foot while he waited in this tense air. When the doors finally opened and Keith stepped through, he allowed himself to smile at this small victory.

“Thank you, Lance,” Keith mumbled under his breath as the doors closed.

The atmosphere of the second story of the building was completely different from the sterile hallways of the first floor. The flooring was still metal, but each wall was painted a light purple shade and the lights slowly changed color. Surrounding a small table was a circle of chairs that several Galra were lounging in.

This must have been the lounge the other Galra were referring to.

Without making eye contact with the other soldiers, Keith walked through the room and out the sliding doors into a hallway that looked similar to the first floor.

He followed the remainder of Haggar’s directions, stopping at an unassuming door. Placing his palm on the hand-scanner, the door hissed open into a room filled with technology he didn’t recognize. There was one lone soldier sitting at the desk with large headphones on, face illuminated by the light of the screens.

Stepping through the threshold, the door closed behind him with a soft whirr and the Galra glanced up to see him hidden in shadow. The Galra parted his lips in confusion before Keith sunk the knife into his throat to silence any words. Blood splattered across his uniform and his shoes as the body dropped from the chair onto the floor. Keith wiped the dagger on his jacket, not worrying about the blood drawing attention, because they either walked out of here without suspicion or they died trying.

After slipping the dagger back into his waistband, Keith stepped over the body and sat in the chair. His eyes scanned the buttons and labels, searching for the ones Haggar had indicated. Pulling the headphones from the body, Keith pulled them over his own ears and waited for the smell of Quintessence in the air.

Closing his eyes, he remembered the taste that saturated the water around the island and the smell that wafted from the bag. He could practically see Nyma’s narrowed gaze over the braided edge of the bag, suspicion was still contorting her features but she let him take on his part of their plan without assistance -- whether that was for the safety of the ones she cared about or because she trusted Keith, it didn’t matter.

A soft scent of euphoria, of cotton candy spun dreams, of the moment before lightning, of kisses in the fragile breath of the night, wafted from the vents.

Keith pressed the button, hearing a confirming static feedback in his headphones. “Attention soldiers, mermaids have never existed. They are a mere fairytale.” He paused, heart pounding in his ears and almost drowning out the steadiness of his own voice. “You are on this island training to defend the seas from pirates, disproving any claims that mermaids are real. You will spread the fact that mermaids are fictional creatures to any who will listen.”

Inhaling, he waited for the sound of pounding footsteps to drag him from this room and kill him in the middle of the quartyard. But none came, so he continued.

“You will allow any suspicious figures to leave your facility today without questioning them. You will never seek out mermaids or Quintessence, because neither exist.”

He kept repeating himself until his throat felt raw and the scent of Quintessence dissipated from the air.

Standing up and pulling on the edges of his jacket, Keith stepped over the dead body and marched from the building with a disbelieving smile on his face.

  


**~~~~**

  


His friends were standing on the edge of the dock. Hunk had given Lance his jacket, and while it had looked so large on Hunk’s frame, it ended at Lance’s mid-thigh and bunched at his wrists.

Nyma had her arms crossed, talking animatedly with Lance. There was a slight puffiness to her eyes and a softness to her tone that Keith had never heard before. Lance nodded, arms wrapped around Hunk’s waist as if he wasn’t willing to let the yellow paladin go.

Rolo stood at Matt’s side, giving him a confident smile and fiddling with the buttons on the jacket he had donated. The jacket barely kept Matt decent, fitting him about the same way it did Rolo. But Keith couldn’t deny the soft expression on Matt’s features.

At the sound of his footsteps, their eyes jumped up as if they were afraid the Quintessence had worn off and left them all defenseless at the mouth of the enemy’s hideout. Lance’s smile was wide, and he took one step from Hunk and said, “Thank you so much, Keith. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

Keith’s heart fluttered at the praise, at the way Lance’s eyes lingered on him with admiration and gratitude.

“No,” Keith breathed, gritting his teeth to admit the truth of the matter. His eyes settled on Nyma’s familiar form, shoulders hunched and mouth set in a grimace, “It really was Nyma who came up with the plan that got us out. Not to mention keeping the Galra out of our waters forever.”

Nyma’s eyes jerked to his in shock, arms falling to her sides at being acknowledged after everything -- how her doubt had almost compromised the mission. Even though he had the humility to admit her influence on their mission today, he didn’t want to count how many days he denied her assistance because of the prejudice that seethed in his heart.

Even though he felt like he had every right to refuse Nyma, the universe seemed determined that he learned to forgive.

He had been given every second chance in the book, how could he refuse to give that to another?

“Let’s--” Matt’s voice cracked over the distant sound of the waves, “Let’s go home.”

Keith nodded and laughed at how zealously Hunk kicked off his shoes and dove into the ocean.

Keith’s gills fluttered to life around his neck, and he breathed a sigh of relief at the cold embrace of the ocean and at each stride towards home.

The soft brush of a fin against his drew Keith’s attention to his right. Lance swam beside him, tail leaving streaks of blood in the water from the few places where his scales had been plucked. There was a peace to his expression that Keith couldn’t bring himself to look away from.

“Thank you,” Lance whispered.

“You already said that.”

Pouting, Lance turned his head so that Keith couldn’t even see his profile. “I know I did. It’s just --” Lance huffed, slowing down as if his tail was hurting him, but rather than complain about it, he met Keith’s eyes. “Hunk told me what you did.”

Did this Lance know what Keith’s destiny was? Had Hunk told Lance every detail, pointing out the love painted so obviously on Keith’s features. Would this Lance have to deny him because his heart and soul belonged to another?

But Keith didn’t need Lance’s heart to want to save him. His happiness was more than enough.

“Lance, I really don’t--”

“I know that you organized all this,” Lance said, swimming close enough to Keith that their fins brushed with every other flick of their tails. Keith hoped that the filtered sunlight from the rapidly fleeting surface would hide his blush. “I know that you made Nyma bring the Quintessence and that -- why won’t you take my thanks?!” Lance snapped a little louder than he meant, and Hunk was instantly by his side, fins bristled and teeth bared.

Hunk’s arm wound around Lance’s waist, drawing him against his chest with a trill of comfort.

Lance sent Keith a soft look before curling against Hunk and swimming home.

“You’re welcome,” Keith breathed, watching the way Hunk’s fingers fitted so snuggly around Lance’s hip.

  


**~~~~**

  


Keith felt the warmth of their city before he saw it in the distance, a bobbing light in the currents from the bioluminescent coral. He longed for the distant weight of Lance’s hand in his, more of a fantasy than a reality in any universe. But maybe he was just longing for comfort, so he gritted his teeth and swam a little closer to Rolo’s side.

“How upset do you think Allura is going to be?” Keith whispered.

Rolo snorted an ugly laugh, gills fluttering against his neck. “I think the Queen will be alright with us considering what this might mean for the future.” His eyes darted to Nyma’s form, swimming so closely to Lance and talking with such an animated look in her eyes. “You should be more worried about Shiro,” Rolo joked, slapping Keith with his tail and bursting forward to pull Nyma against his chest.

Keith’s eyes felt to Matt, who was making slow pace beside them with eyes fixated on the unchanging sea floor. There was a stiffness to his shoulders that Keith could remember in Shiro’s, a guilt at leaving something behind, a guilt at surviving, a guilt at the burdensome memories.

Before he could comfort Matt, a shout stirred the water when they were barely in mermaid territory.

Soldiers suddenly surrounded them, spears strapped to their backs and expressions grim as they guided the whole group to the throne room.

Swimming through the doors, Hunk didn’t even wait to see Allura’s cloud of starlight hair before shouting, “Lance and Matt should be at the medic and not trapped here because of our decisions!”

Allura turned to face them, tapping her nails on the arms of the coral throne and a smile breaking her stern features.

Shiro was standing beside Allura, skin pale and lips pinched in a frown as if he was fighting the urge to smile. His hand reached to the empty space beneath his bicep, a constant reminder of the Galra etched into his skin. And all Keith wanted to do was run to his side and apologize over and over for every time he never made it back home.

Pidge burst from Allura’s side, wrapping Lance in a breath-stealing hug, arms trembling and sobs echoing in the water. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she mumbled against his chest, fingers digging into his back as if to convince herself that he was real and not a figment of her imagination. “I’m so sorry --”

“Pidge,” Lance breathed, cutting her off and running his fingers through her loose hair. Dipping his chin, Lance nestled his head into her scalp and attempted to hide the tears that constricted his face and evanscened into the water.

“Pidge,” another voice croaked, and Pidge’s head jerked up to see Matt swim through the doors.

She ignored the pallor of his skin and the weakness to his limbs and rushed into his arms with enthusiasm and a squeal of joy. “Matt! Oh my god, Matt!” She squeezed him tight enough that Keith feared his gills couldn’t flutter enough to draw in excess oxygen. Pulling back from him, she gazed over him with tears in her eyes. “I knew you were alive. I knew it!”

Glancing over Matt’s shoulder, Pidge looked around the room and asked, “Where’s Dad?”

“He --” Matt stuttered, biting his lip and unable to meet Pidge’s gaze. “For me, he --”

“No,” Pidge shook her head, swimming back from Matt so that she could look over their ragtag group. “Dad has to be here. Sendak said --”

“Congratulations,” Allura announced, voice cutting through the water like a knife and drawing their attentions to her perch on the throne. Keith wasn’t sure if she was cutting off Pidge’s panic because she cared about the girl and thought a distraction would help or because she was so desperate for answers. “Many compliments on your foolish endeavour. Although I’m glad that you accomplished your mission. Now, throw them in the dungeons.”

The guards swarmed from the edges of the room, spears pointed and snears curling on their lips.

“Wait!” Keith yelled, breaking out of formation and swimming to the foot of the throne. “We may have stopped the Galra forever!”

Snapping her fingers to stop the guards, Allura leaned forward, gaze narrowed and eyebrow raised. Shiro tensed at her side, lips parting in disbelieve. And their in her gaze was something Keith recognized, a spark of hope so long extinguished in this reality.

“Explain,” Allura commanded, and Keith was bound to obey.

  


**~~~~**

  


Keith had explained everything they’d done, omitting the confession of his fate and making sure that Nyma got more credit than was necessary. He couldn’t fight the small flicker of friendship at Nyma’s bright smile, her pride, and the way that she hugged Lance, so different from how she regarded him in every other universe.

Allura had dismissed the guards, pulling them all into a tight hug and congratulating them with a whispered threat, “If you ever disobey me again, I _will_ throw you in the dungeon to rot.” Pulling back, she placed her hands on Keith’s shoulders and gave him a warm smile before pushing him in Shiro’s direction.

Guilt gnawed on his ribs as he drifted towards his best friend, gaze pinned to the sandy ground.

“Shiro,” he whispered, unable to pin down the mist of shame that clogged his lungs. But before he could say anything else, Shiro crushed him in a blunt hug, arm winding around Keith’s back and squeezing him against his broad chest. “Shiro --”

“Keith, I’m so glad you’re okay,” Shiro mumbled into Keith’s hair, and Keith could feel the tremble of his fingers against his back. Winding his arms around Shiro, Keith nestled his face into Shiro’s chest and relished in the feeling of safety that overwhelmed him, drawing him under like a riptide. “I’m so glad, so glad.”

Mumbling against Shiro’s warm skin, Keith squeezed his eyes closed as he spoke, “But I didn’t listen to you, and you were so right. Everything there was so _terrible_ \--” his voice cracked, and Keith swallowed the rest of his sentence and allowed himself to be rocked to safety in the confines of Shiro’s arms.

“Come on.” Shiro unwrapped Keith and began dragging him from the throne room. “Let’s get you home.”

“But everyone --”

“Everyone will be here tomorrow. It’s time for you to get some rest.” Shiro smiled, eyes glinting in the bioluminescent algae, and Keith had never been more grateful to have someone like Shiro.

And after a peaceful meal and endless jokes with Shiro, Keith curled up in bed, pulling Shiro down next to him. He huffed out of his gills, fluttering them against his skin, and closing his eyes, he allowed himself to drift into another world with the taste of salt on his tongue.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY! The mermaid arc is complete!! °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°
> 
> I'm really happy about Nyma's redemption arc as well! I wanted Keith to be able to forgive her and rectify the fact that not everyone is the same in every universe, also I think if Nyma has a redemption in the show, she deserves one here haha
> 
> So I hope you enjoyed this arc and this longer chapter!! Unfortunately, I'm out of town next week and won't be able to update, but I'll be active again in the new year! (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ
> 
> Thank you all so much for your wonderful comments and kudos!
> 
> You can also follow me on [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com) if you're still around!


	51. Intermission: The Promise of Answers

Pidge had joked about having more dreams, but it felt like Lance couldn’t fall asleep without the distant purring of Red and a flash flood of nightmares about Keith. Waking covered in sweat and with a scream trapped between gritted teeth. Hands trembling and eyes wide and searching in the expansive darkness of his room that crept into his mind with the faint remnants of dreams.

A week later, Lance was pacing the kitchen in disheveled paladin pajamas. The shirt was buttoned incorrectly, bunching against his collar and pooling around the opposite wrist. Chewing on his bottom lip, he tried to articulate everything he saw, every little detail that seemed branded into his mind.

“He just stood in the command center, and we all died,” Lance mumbled trying to grow accustomed at seeing his own death -- at watching Keith carry his limp body from the mouth of the red lion. His skin crawled at the images that he couldn’t scrub from his mind.

Threading his hands through his hair, Lance continued, feeling like he was coming apart at the seams. “Or -- or the dream where Keith was running to the cryopods with me in his arms, and I -- I -- there wasn’t enough time. Or the millions of conversations we had. And -- and Spanish! Keith and I talked in Spanish.” His gaze darted to the concern so evident on his teammates faces. “But some--somehow I always end up dying. I don’t --”

“Lance,” Hunk’s warm voice cut him off, a rumble of distant thunder in the presence of rain and signaling the end of a storm. “Breathe.” It was an order, uttered in a tone that was so different from the one that Hunk normally used; this was hardened, a tonality appearing sometime from their start at the Garrison.

A breath stuttered in his chest, burning with each gasp. But his eyes found Hunk and using him as a touchstone in his mind, Lance drew himself from the depths of the nightmares.

His hands fell from his hair to his sides.

“Sorry --”

“Do you think they have anything to do with Red?” Pidge asked suddenly, drawing Lance from his self deprecating spiral with her analytical approach to the problem.

“Red?” Lance fumbled, reaching for the lion in the back of his mind and enjoying her warm purr in response.

Pidge nodded, glasses sliding down her nose as she looked at her computer. Her declaration had caught the attention of everyone in the room, even Allura had tilted her head to the side in curiosity. Chewing on her bottom lip, Pidge seemed to contemplate how to phrase the next sentence.

“It’s just,” she exhaled and Hunk finished the sentence with a shrug.

“I mean, they’re transreality robots with semi-sentience. I, for one, wouldn’t be surprised if they had the ability to make dreams.” Hunk picked under his nails, only to glance up at Lance’s heavy stair.

His eyes settled on the yellow paladin while his heart stuttered at the notion of this being Red’s doing. Because why would Red give him these nightmares, wake him on the verge of screaming and haunt his days with the faded tendrils of horrors.

Shaking his head slowly, Lance murmured, “W--what? Why? Why would she do...that?”

The silence was heavy, a weighted thing in the room that pressed on Lance’s shoulders with each passing second.

“I mean,” Hunk fumbled for something to say, hands waving in front of him as if to ward off the silence, “maybe it wasn’t Red, but like Keith’s crazy cryopod dreams or something?” The yellow paladin glanced around the room as if for reassurance.

Pidge shrugged and mumbled, “Anything’s possible with Voltron.”

  


**~~~~**

  


“So you called me here, all the way from the Wozblay region just to discuss dreams?” Slav stated, crossing all of his arms and narrowing his gaze on Lance even though it was Allura who made the call.

They all stood in the command center, hoping that Slav could give them answers -- either on Lance’s dreams or the alarm that blared every morning from Keith’s cryopod. After their journey through the reality rift, it seemed like Slav could have all the answers.

“Yes, but --”

“I don’t care about these dreams,” Slav waved on hand before placing it on his cheek, “unless you’ve dreamed about a purple znofblat!”

Lance slumped deeper into his chair. “I don’t even know what that is,” he grumbled, rubbing a hand down his face with a tired sigh.

Tapping his finger against his chin, Slav continued talking, more to himself than anyone else, “But this idea of a butterfly effect because of the red paladin, that--that is interesting! Do you have any data on what’s been happening?”

Pidge volunteered to show him all of her notes, and the rest of the team left them to discuss all of information.

They were relaxing in the lounge when Pidge walked through the doors with a low groan. Flopping onto the couch, Pidge pushed up her glasses and scrubbed at her eyes, exposing her blatant exhaustion.

“Did Slav leave?” Shiro asked with a little too much joy in his tone, and Lance couldn’t help but crack a smile.

“Yeah,” Pidge grumbled, “of course after insulting my data for three hours, he just left. Said something about needing to recalculate his possible realities, and _left_.”

Lance gently rubbed her back, because he was irritated just hearing about it. He watched her shoulders slowly relax before he asked, “So you didn’t learn anything?”

“I learned why Shiro lost his patience so quickly at Beta Traz,” Pidge grinned, and it startled a laugh out of Lance.

Ignoring the small ache in their hearts, one that opened wider at the promise of answers, they talked about unimportant things, ignoring the spot left open on the couch -- Keith’s normal seat. They took comfort in each other, enjoying these delicate moments of peace, until Coran burst through the door with his arms piled with clothes.

“Bii-boh-bi and I have been working on these all day!” Coran held up a strange black bodysuit before tossing it to Shiro. “New uniforms for the Voltron Show!!”

Shiro held up the article of clothing, examining the sheerness of the fabric and the tightness of the fit. Shaking his head, Shiro dropped it to the seat beside him before stating, “No. Just -- no.”

Lance couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled from his lungs. The rest of the group joined in as Coran started to make excuses for his lackluster clothing design. It had been a while since they’d laughed as heartily as this, so reminiscent of the last time Keith was here -- he would scrunch up his face in a mockery of a smile, but his shoulders would tremble with silent laughter, cheeks red and eyes pinched.

So rather than dwelling on the dreams, Lance focused on the Voltron shows, the brilliant lights and the vibrant celebrations. It was so interesting to meet new aliens and explore their cultures, because he would take anything other than the dreams that haunted his nights. But every night as he laid in bed, eyes pinned open even as Red soothed him with gentle purrs.

And as if Red could sense the stress each dream wove into Lance’s blood, the nightmares diminished to that familiar hallway scene and the peaceful look on Keith’s face. Lance woke with an aching hollow in his chest until the dreams ceased altogether.

He wouldn’t admit how he missed that soft expression on Keith’s face.

Wandering down to the pod bay, Lance peered through the blue frosted glass to see Keith and that peaceful smile.

“Keith, come back. Please, come back,” he whispered pressing his forehead against the glass and exhaling until he couldn’t see Keith through the fog of his breath.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh also, season 8 really really hurt me, dudes. I'm not going to spoil anything in case people haven't had the chance to watch it yet, but feel free to chat me up on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com) if you want to talk about it!
> 
> As I said in the last outtro, I'm not going to be able to update next week because I'm out of town, but wishing you all Happy Holidays and a Happy New Year!! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> Thanks so much for all of your comments and kudos, because they honestly mean the absolute world to me (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡


	52. Why Are We Worlds Apart?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from the song "Worlds Apart" by Seven Lions! Very fitting I think haha

The next universe Keith woke into was full of Spanish and cameras and screaming fans.

Lance was some kind of Spanish soap opera star, bare chested and smirking in every frame and somehow making every outfit effortlessly sexual. Keith could feel the longing burn like crackling flames in his stomach as Lance perched on the edge of a couch and spoke in a husky voice. Bright lights caught the highlight on his cheeks and brought out the oceanic blue in his eyes.

And Keith was forced to watch from the darkened edges of the set, answering emails and planning out the rest of Lance’s day. An assistant to one of the most famous actors of their generation, because this soap opera was only fun for Lance, a childhood dream finally achieved.

Before his dive into daytime television, Lance had been in a series of multimillion dollar movies that earned him his name in this cut-throat industry.

Walking off the set, Lance slapped Keith on the shoulder and asked, in Spanish, “ _What’s on the agenda for today?_ ” before chugging his water bottle.

Keith had to force himself to stop watching the way Lance’s adam’s apple bobbed with each sip. Shaking his head, he swiped through the tablet and scanned the schedule. Responding in rusty Spanish, Keith said, “ _You have a meeting in an hour with some talk-show host. After lunch, you have a collaboration with the YouTuber and beauty guru, Allura. But that should end in time for your dinner reservation_.”

Glancing up from the tablet, Keith met Lance’s wide gaze, lips wet from the water bottle that was crushed in his grasp.

“Lance?”

“When did you learn Spanish?” Lance demanded in English, voice a strangled whisper.

“I picked it up while watching the show?” Keith offered as more of question rather than a reasonable excuse. Waving his hand, Keith felt blush creep up the back of his neck with the weight of Lance’s eyes on him. “Is that a problem?”

Lance coughed, standing up straighter and scratching at the back of his neck. “Of course not.”

Keith hid his smile behind his tablet as he followed Lance off set and towards the bodyguard at the door.

He couldn’t help but be enamored with Lance’s glamorous life, the life that he got to peer into from behind a curtain, drenched in darkness while Lance was bathed in the spotlight. And wow, did he look wonderful in that limelight, all buoyant and flirtatious and everything Keith wanted to be beside.

When on the talk show, Lance used his hands when he explained different stories, and Keith could almost see the reflection of stars on his profile. On the YouTube collaboration, Lance painted his eyes like Monet: a delicate and deliberate blend of colors that almost appeared like a wash of hues at close glance, but he was a masterpiece if you took the chance to take in all of him. His fingers moved delicately with the brush, carving out his high cheekbones as he stifled a laugh with Allura.

The Lance of this reality was one of the most relaxed Keith had seen -- all smiles and well wishes before the camera. Even behind closed doors, he was the same bubbly personality Keith had fought alongside. It was such a respite from the worlds Keith had visited before that he tried to ignore the looming sensation of dread that plagued him at every turn.

What Keith didn’t expect was to wake in the middle of the night to a frantic call from his manager.

“Are you with Lance?”

“What? No, I--”

“Have you seen the news? I don’t believe it!” Her voice was a panicked buzz in his ears as his numb fingers fumbled for the light and the TV remote. That familiar dread was heavy in his stomach as the screen flickered to life, showing live footage from Lance’s LA mansion.

Police cars lined the street as an ambulance sat in the driveway, and all of their flashing lights cast the facade of the house in an eerie hue.

There was the distant hum of his manager’s voice in his ear, but all Keith heard was the newscaster detailing what happened. “Earlier tonight, a crazed fan broke into the house of the famous actor, Lance Serrano. However, this visit ended in tragedy, appearing to have been a murder-suicide brought on by Serrano’s recent restraining order against the fan. In a suicide note found on the property--”

Keith switched off the TV and hung up the phone.

Flipping off the light, he pulled the covers over his head and wished for that dreamless sleep to take him once again. He had a job to do.

He would protect Lance.

And he did, but it was more difficult than he anticipated. Getting himself invited to Lance’s house was an enormous effort in itself. Supposedly being Lance Serrano’s personal assistant wasn’t grounds to enter the property (after he’d wasted three days just trying to discover where Lance lived.) And his warnings fell upon deaf ears or landed him in the police station at the end of the day, a bright light in his eyes and questions barked in his face.

But when he finally stood in the threshold of Lance’s apartment, he knew he would succeed. At the merest sound of the trespasser, Keith charged into action with practiced skill, trained from the long nights in the castle or killing off a horde of zombies.

Lance huddled against the wall, eyes wide and terrified as Keith turned to him, shirt splattered with blood and fingers still trembling with bloodlust. A ceramic vase was shaking in Lance’s white-knuckled grip as he had been desperate to defend himself with anything he could get his hands on.

Keith dropped the bloody fire pick to the floor, wiping his hands on his shirt as he slowly walked towards Lance. With a placating smile, he covered Lance’s trembling hands with his own and slowly peeled their white-knuckled grip from the vase.

Refusing to meet Lance’s gaze, Keith quickly turned his back on his friend to place the vase on a nearby coffee table. He wasn’t sure what he was going to find in those bright eyes -- would he be terrified at Keith’s unrestrained bloodlust, his nonchalance at taking a life, his lack of hesitation?

But before he could apologize for not dealing with the situation better, Lance embraced him with warm arms and a choked sob. His trembling chest was pressed to Keith’s back as tears soaked into his collar.

“Thank you,” Lance breathed.

Keith merely nodded, unwilling to speak because he was afraid of what would pour out of his open lips. His fingers still trembled with rage, because that man deserved to suffer for more than those few minutes. But rather than allowing the unsated bloodlust to curl in his words, Keith simply turned in Lance’s hold, drawing the trembling idol to his chest and enjoying the scent of vanilla and cedar.

  


**~~~~**

  


Keith woke in the next world with a gasp and the terrible sensation of drowning. After scratching at his neck, determined to open his gills once again, Keith shuttered with relief. He wasn’t buried under fathoms of water, but that didn’t stop the vice grip of dread around his throat, throttling him anytime he inhaled too deeply.

There was something terribly wrong here.

Rubbing his eyes, Keith sat up in bed, immediately taking in the state of his apartment. The walls were covered with papers and notes and half-drawn pictures, reminiscent of his shack in the desert -- the one that seemed even more distant and unapproachable in these distant worlds than when he was traveling through space.

His skin felt gritty as if he hadn’t showered in a few days. But rather than focusing on the way his hair curled in oily tendrils across his forehead, he pushed himself from the covers and walked to the nearest wall. Reaching up, he plucked at a red string that was tethered between two push pins and connecting a handwritten note and a the corner of a map. The diagram covered the majority of the wall in several overlapping pieces of paper, piecing together the outline of a building.

Squinting and leaning closer, Keith caught the title of the blueprints from the corner of the printed papers.

“No, no, no,” he mumbled, stumbling backwards until his feet hit the bed frame. Glancing over the walls, he caught sight of Lance’s picture on the far wall, faded from the sunlight peeking underneath the blinds.

Running to the wall, Keith slammed his hands against the papers, searching for the source of the bubbling dread in his stomach.

After scanning the printouts, he was soon to realize what all of this planning was for.

Lance was in jail.

And he had to break Lance out. Tonight. Because he was to be executed tomorrow morning for the brutal murder of his girlfriend.

Keith wanted to believe that Lance wasn’t capable of murder, but there had been too many universes that Keith had watched him kill with his own two hands. ( _not that Keith’s hands were clean, nor his teeth or his nails or his conscience_.) But all of those had been justified, in the way that war was absolved by higher authorities or a sense of righteousness.

Swallowing bile, Keith clutched desperately to the sensation of dread in his stomach, because there was something desperately wrong with this situation -- other than the obvious of Lance being convicted.

_Wrongly convicted._

Keith followed that vehement spark of familiarity. Looking at the facts of the case, surrounding Lance’s mugshot like a halo of printer paper, something seemed so out of place -- and it wasn’t the fear and desperation painted so clearly on Lance’s expression.

It didn’t matter if Lance murdered his girlfriend or not. It was obviously past the time to believe the legal system would right its own wrongs.

The universe had brought Keith into this realm to save him, guilty or not.

Growling under his breath, Keith marched to his small kitchen and brewed some coffee. He needed the caffeine, because he somehow had to figure out how to break into a maximum security prison in sixteen hours. Awesome.

Jowangshin, help him.

After the first week of epic failures, Keith reluctantly decided to call Pidge as soon as he woke again in this world.

“Keith, it’s seven in the morning. This better be good,” her voice was a muffled grumble.

“Do you think Lance is guilty?” Keith breathed, listening intently to Pidge’s sharp inhale and the following tense silence. His entire plan rested on her beliefs, because it was clear after a week that Keith couldn’t do this on his own.

With a harsh sigh, Pidge snapped, “It doesn’t matter what I think. I’m not the judge and jury of America, Keith. What’s all --”

“I’m going to break him out,” Keith whispered, afraid of the effects this could have on the rest of his day. But he consoled himself with the knowledge that if this didn’t work out, he could just try again tomorrow morning.

“Keith,” Pidge’s voice wavered, on the verge of a sob, “what are you talking about?”

“They’re going to kill him tomorrow morning, Pidge!” Keith snapped, jumping to his feet and pacing around his room, stepping on dirty laundry and empty coffee cups. “They’re going to kill him like some fucking animal -- like a monster. But he’s not anything like that! And -- and the facts just don’t add up. Has anyone even considered that? Like what the fuck is --”

Pidge’s voice cut him off, stilling the breath in his chest and making him wish for tomorrow morning already, “Keith! He’s had his appeals. He’s had the best lawyers we could afford. There’s nothing we can do now.”

There was a moment of silence between them.

“Are you sure there’s nothing?”

Eventually Keith got that conversation down to a rehearsed speech, like actors creating a script day after day.

But nonetheless, Keith ended up getting caught before he could reach Lance’s cell -- even with Pidge’s help shutting down the cameras and giving him access to the prisoner cell block.

Obviously there needed to be someone else involved in their little plot.

But the question was who?

Somehow Keith ended up on the phone with Veronica, Lance’s oldest sister. Her voice cut through the phone with a blunt tone, “Hello.”

“Hi, Veronica. It’s Keith Kogane. I was --” but a dial tone cut him off, evidence enough that this world was destined to give him more trouble than it was worth.

After he’d convinced Pidge that Lance’s sister was a necessary component to their plan, she easily tracked down Veronica’s address. Keith sped down the road in a motorcycle, enjoying the feeling of adrenaline in his blood and promising himself that when he got back to Earth, he was buying one of his own.

Veronica opened the door after three knocks, but as soon as she saw Keith’s exhausted face, she attempted to shut it.

“Veronica!” Keith called as he shoved his foot in the crack of the door and kept it open with a wince of pain.

“I’ve heard enough of it, Keith!” Veronica’s voice was reed thin, nothing compared what his spark of familiarity was accustomed to. “There’s nothing we can do anymore.”

With a harsh shove, Keith pushed himself inside, standing over Veronica. Her eyes were puffy with quickly dried tears and her hair was a mess around her shoulders, sticking to her wet cheeks. She crossed her arms and wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“What if there was something else we could do for him?”

When they finally managed to break Lance out of prison, Keith was so surprised at the frailness of Lance’s figure. Sneaking through the sewers, Keith supported his friend, feeling the way his bones moved underneath thin skin and weak muscle with each step. Tipping his head back, he fought back tears as Lance sobbed into his neck with tiny whispers of, “I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it.”

“I know,” he breathed, carding his fingers through Lance’s hair and enjoying the warmth of Lance in his arms. “I know.”

He wasn’t sure what kind of hell this Keith’s life was going to be after tomorrow -- constantly on the run from the authorities? A criminal in the eyes of the law? But he knew that it would be alright as long as Lance was by his side.

  


**~~~~**

  


He almost laughed out loud at the next universe, waking in a coffin and thirsting for the taste of blood.

Had he officially become Edward Cullen?

His first instinct was to tell Lance all about it -- the way he felt almost weightless as he walked, as if his body was used to flying or if he was becoming accustomed to his super strength all over again. Or how his eyes ached with any flash of bright light, and how he had no desire to go to high school for a hundred years. Or how he was pretty sure that he didn’t sparkle in the sun.

But he wanted to tell the Lance of the zombie world, the one laughing over the campfire at his knowledge of _Twilight_ , and watch that delicate smile curl into his cheeks.

Nonetheless, Keith left his room in search of the blue eyed beauty, only to discover that Shiro and Allura were the only other vampires he knew in this large house nestled in a darkened forest. They smiled at him, all pointed teeth and so beautiful it almost hurt to look at them -- an age-old method of drawing in prey.

Without having to speak a word, Shiro seemed to hear his thoughts and answered them accordingly, “Who is this Lance you search for, cousin?”

“You don’t know him?” Keith asked, fighting the sense of dread that bubbled in his stomach.

“I do not even know the face you think of.” Shiro stepped forward, placing a cold hand on Keith’s shoulder. His touch seemed to radiate power rather than the comfort he was accustomed to. “And you know I never forget a face.”

His smile was toothy, fangs pointed from his eye teeth and gleaming in the low light of the hallway.

“This is not a topic to concern ourselves with when the battle approaches in three varga,” Allura stated, standing taller and flipping a curl of her starlight hair over her shoulder.

At the mention of a battle, the small looming anxiety in his stomach exploded into anticipation of the worst: bodies and blood and explosions and everything Keith had already lived through in space, a damp riverbed, and a fortress. His hands twitched at his sides as he felt his fangs dig into his bottom lip and sweat break out on his skin.

“You are correct, my love.” Shiro wrapped an arm around her waist, leading her down the hallway as Keith ignored the waves of lust he could almost feel radiating off them.

He watched them leave as a burning ache settled into the lining of his stomach and crawled up his throat. But this clawing thirst reminded him so much of the hunger that had never been sated. And he forced himself to think of the delicacy of Sendak’s flesh and not that initial meal of kisses and screams.

Three hours later, Keith found himself standing next to Shiro in a clearing where the smell of mildew and mist lingered on the cool breeze. Except the cold didn’t seem to affect him as it once did -- no, this body was so different from any he’d been in before, all strength and hardened edges.

Fog rolled in from the hills along with floating lights that soon manifested in the glowing eyes of werewolves.

A shiver traversed Keith’s spine, and he couldn’t seem to fight the instinct that made him bear his teeth and dig pointed nails into the palm of his hands.

A spark of familiarity had him searching for oceans among the tides of mist. A barely-clothed man walked among the growling wolves, broad shoulders and ruffled brunette curls and those eyes that Keith had been so desperate to find.

“This is your last chance to retreat!” The leader of the werewolves crossed his arms and his muscles seemed to strain under the dim moonlight. Snapping his jaws, his eyes glowed more brightly than just moments before. “With you all gone, I think I might miss hunting something a little more intelligent than deer.”

There were a chatter of snorts and barks around him, showing that his fellow wolves enjoyed his sense of humor.

“A pleasure, Lance,” Allura purred, stepping forward from their coven to greet him in the center of the clearing.

Shiro’s hardened gaze pierced through Keith, remembering the face from his memories. But there was no time for talk, because with the shake of hands, it was a massacre. Blood was everywhere -- clotted beneath his fingernails and splattered across his lips and soaking into the front of his shirt and pooling in the grass and misting in the air.

And yet Keith could still smell a hint of vanilla underneath the copper and iron that threatened to drown him in desire. But when he found Lance, the wolf was barely breathing, whimpering with each wheezing exhale. His eyes were glossy, and with the barest touch of his fingers, Keith could tell he had several broken ribs that had punctured his lungs.

There was nothing to do except stroke delicate hands down Lance’s spine, scratching behind his ears, and offering him soft words of comfort until the last breath shuddered from his chest and his eyes went glassy.

Burying his face in Lance’s blood-matted fur, Keith allowed himself to cry tears until the sun dawned and consumed him like Jowangshin’s flames.

Although he was fascinated by his new found strength his first few days in this realm, Keith soon learned that there were many more cons to being a Vampire than lore made it seem. And most of the issues rested with Shiro.

Before Keith could even breathe a word, Shiro seemed to pick apart his thoughts, drawing Lance to the forefront, werewolves surrounding him and supporting their pack leader, and scrutinizing Keith’s every excuse.

The excuse that tumbled from his lips most often was, “I care about him, Shiro!” -- because even though those words paled in comparison to the warmth in his heart, he couldn’t allow himself to say them outloud, least of all to someone who wasn’t Lance. But all that did was get him locked in his coffin so that he couldn’t warn the werewolves or attempt to fight against his own kind.

After a week of Shiro’s overbearing nature, Keith jumped out the window before he could even be cornered by Shiro in the hallway.

Racing through the trees, Keith ignored the slight burn of dusk on his skin and familiarized himself with the way his new body moved with such agility. Standing in the clearing, he inhaled deeply, searching for that recognizable scent. What he caught on the wind was the faint stench of must and mildew and wet dog, but he followed it nonetheless.

Surrendering himself at the edge of werewolf territory went against every instinct -- the ones that were screaming and pounding in his mind like the echo of a heartbeat.

But Keith relished in the way that Lance approached him, like he was prey caught in those tremulous eyes. His muscles rippled with every step, and he came to a stop in front of Keith, arms crossed and towering over him. Looking up through his lashes, Keith inhaled deeply, catching the faint scent of vanilla and cedar under the undeniable stench of mutt.

“Lance,” Keith breathed, unable to help himself from reaching out for the man before him, so familiar yet so distant from every iteration Keith had encountered.

Before his fingers could even brush Lance’s skin, a warm hand caught his wrist, pulling his gaze up to meet those narrowing eyes. Lance’s nails were pointed and digging into the tender flesh of his inner wrist as he growled, “What do you want, bloodsucker?”

_You. You. You. You._

As if all Keith could do was want.

“I want to protect you.”

Lance tipped his head back and barked a laugh, and all Keith could do was watch the way his throat bobbed and hear the soft beating of his heart. He swallowed stiffly, so accustomed to hungering for Lance.

“You want to protect me?” the werewolf snapped, teeth pointed and gleaming in the porch light of their mansion nestled in the hills. “And I’m supposed to trust you right before your _brethren_ attack my people?”

All Keith could see was Lance washed out against those dull prison walls as his expression fell at Keith’s words. How that Lance had also denied Keith’s protection, too dangerous for both of them. Or how Lance had begged Keith not to use his body as a shield on the deck of Sendak’s ship. Or how Lance had told him he loved him in that musty hallway as Jowangshin giggled in his stomach.

“Is that so wrong?” His voice was a mere whisper, an exhale that should have never left his lungs, a lover’s sigh captured by the wind. There was no way every single werewolf around him missed his question, not with their superior hearing. Lance’s hand tightened around Keith’s wrist as confusion furrowed his brow. “Is it wrong that I would doublecross my own coven to protect you?”

“What --” Lance choked, dropping Keith’s wrist as if his cold flesh had burned him. The pack leader turned his back on Keith, but he saw the slight blush that decorated Lance’s cheeks. “See what he knows,” Lance commanded before stalking off.

Keith only sighed, because he now knew there would be no way to convince Lance to let him protect him.

So the next day after avoiding Shiro, Keith waited in the far trees, down wind from both the coven and the pack. And he fought with vigor, determined and jumping in front of Lance as a vampire attempted to crush his ribs.

But even with all of his previous battles, he wasn’t prepared for this supernatural skirmish.

“Lance,” he wheezed, reaching to sink his fingers into that soft pelt. A soft lick brushed his cheek as a thank you before he sunk into unconsciousness.

Unfortunately, living until the end of the battle to protect Lance proved difficult. And eventually he stood at the center of the field, radiating irritation with his arms crossed and his foot tapping against the crushed grass. The vampires marched from the trees and the werewolves spilled from the hills with suspicion curling their lips into snarls.

Swinging out his arms, Keith growled, “Why are you even fighting?”

“Keith,” Shiro reprimanded, stepping forward with a dark expression twisting the bright planes of his face.

“But why are you fighting? Land and territory? An age old grudge we have nothing to do with? Instincts?” Keith continued, turning to face Lance and the wolves gathered at his heels. “I don’t understand why those are reasons to risk your lives! I would rather risk my life for peace.”

With supernatural speed, Shiro was suddenly at his side. “Keith,” Shiro hissed as he gripped Keith’s bicep, attempting to draw them back into the safety of the coven.

“No, Shiro.” Keith pulled his arm out of Shiro’s grasp, stumbling backward and allowing the undercurrent of Lance’s scent to steady him. “I’m going give myself to the pack to end this disagreement.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ”  
“ _What?_ ”

Shiro and Lance barked at the same time, expressions so similar but painted in a different hue.

And somehow after Keith’s spontaneous declaration, a lengthy discussion occured along a tightrope of threadbare peace. Allura and Lance talked about territory and the instincts that pounded in their blood, allowing them to settle this war without bloodshed but a promise of peace.

Hope bloomed in Keith’s chest as he watched Lance walk with his pack into the hills, seemingly taking the rising fog with them. Although Lance barely spared him a passing glance, Keith couldn’t help but feel successful as he tipped his head back and gazed at the distant stars.

  


**~~~~**

  


The soot was heavy in the air as Keith approached the small storefront on the corner of the street. It was like the building was painted in monochrome, bricks singed to a pitch black and windows shattered in the heat of extinguished flames.

His uniform was weighing on his body making every movement difficult as he followed the watery trail through the door. Each breath was heavy in his lungs. He could still feel the kickback of the firehose tingling in his arms. When he’d arrived the store was ablaze, thick grey smoke rolling from the windows and screams echoing down the block.

He couldn’t help but think of his late father as he had donned the firefighter’s uniform when the alarm blared in the station house. There were the faded memories of his father’s weary smile, coming home and still smelling of smoke and dust. Or the nights when his eyes were haunted, and he hugged Keith so close to his chest, shoulders trembling and breaths ragged.

It was with pride that he helped extinguish the flames and escort the survivors to the ambulances.

But it was only after the fire had turned to nothing but char when him and the rest of the fire fighters entered the building, did he realize he’d failed -- failed his only job in the universe.

He’d failed to protect Lance.

Lance’s body was curled against the far exit, door still locked and skin blending into the inky charcoal of the room. He was a mere skeleton, reduced to ash and embers and Keith could only think of the day that Jowangshin had burned the two of them together, huddled on that small couch in Queen Allura’s office.

He wasn’t sure if the ashy residue on his tongue was the shadows of memories or the remnants of the building fire.

The next day, Keith learned that Lance was a flirty barista at the coffee shop. He’d walked in before his shift at the firehouse, determined to learn more about the situation, and was surprised to see Lance behind the counter with a bright smile.

“What can I get you?”

_You. You. You. You._

“Uh, a latte. Please.” Keith stuttered, watching the way Lance nodded and wrote on a festive holiday cup.

“Anything else?” Keith shook his head, unable to find the words as the morning sunlight filtered through the windows of the shop and glistened in Lance’s hair. “Can I get your name for the order?”

“Keith,” he mumbled and scratched at the back of his neck, debating on putting his hair up because it was suddenly a lot hotter in the small shop.

Lance smiled brightly, eyes crinkling in the corners and swirling in the tides of the ocean, as he counted out Keith’s change.

Bewitched by the way Lance made his coffee, Keith hardly moved, breath stilling in his chest as he watched those familiar hands steam milk and tap rhythms against the side of the cup.

“A latte for Keith,” Lance announced, turning around and presenting the warm cup to Keith.

Nodding a small thanks, Keith ignored the small jolt of lightning that traveled up his arm at the mere brush of Lance’s fingertips.

Sitting in a secluded corner of the cafe, Keith sipped at his latte and focused on remembering all the little details of yesterday. What was the exact time the fire alarms had alerted the fire house? What was the exact cause of the fire?

Grabbing his phone, Keith texted his colleagues saying that he would be late to his shift, because there was no way that he could leave this cafe -- not with the way dread settled so heavily in his stomach, so familiar and debilitating.

Sipping on his latte, Keith kept a quiet watch on Lance, who smiled so brightly behind the counter and chatted with every customer. It was peaceful to watch this Lance, because it was like looking back at his time in the Garrison, remembering a kid that laughed loudly, tipped his head back and chuckled like a solar flare in his memories. Remembering someone he could barely recall but so desperately longed to.

It was like seeing a Lance untainted by war and loss. It was so freeing to think that not only could Keith save him, but he could protect Lance from all the wrongs the other versions of him experienced.

So Keith sat in the cafe for hours, mapping out the exits and the position of the single fire extinguisher in the building. In order to keep up appearances, Keith got up and ordered a small muffin. Lance smiled and started up a conversation with him.

“I haven’t seen you in here before,” Lance commented while grabbing a piece of wax paper to pull a blueberry muffin from the glass case next to the register. “Are you new or just new to Thursday afternoons?” Lance chuckled as he met Keith’s eyes with a questioning tilt to his head.

“New to Thursdays.” He swallowed harshly and followed the thin trail of familiarity that guided him through his simple life as a firefighter. “I normally have a shift today but schedules just changed.”

Lance dropped the muffin into a small paper bag and passed it over the counter before dropping his chin into his hand. His elbow was propped against the top of the glass case, and he looked so relaxed that Keith couldn’t fight his smile.

“And what do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Keith chuckled, fighting the desire that wished their fingers had brushed when he’d taken the bag from Lance’s grasp. “I don’t mind --”

“Oh oh, let me guess!” Lance tapped a finger against his chin as he hummed with thought. “Maybe a model? Military? No, wait! A personal trainer?”

“I’m a firefighter,” Keith answered, diligently ignoring the blush that climbed the back of his neck and settled in the apples of his cheeks. “But thanks, I guess?”

Lance tipped his head back and barked a jubilant laugh. “Well, I knew those muscles had to be from somewhere.”

Keith glanced down at himself, noticing for the first time that his muscles were more defined than he was accustomed to, biceps and pecs straining against his shirt. Shaking his head, Keith rolled his eyes and met Lance’s heated gaze.

“What do you do? I mean, do you do anything besides this?” Keith fumbled.

“I’m a student,” Lance said straightening and grabbing a towel from under the counter and wiping down the smudges he’d left on the glass case. “I just do this part time so that I can pay some of my tuition.”

Keith could help but be intrigued. What would this Lance be studying? Aeronautics? Astronomy? Aviation?

“What are you studying?”

Lance’s eyes flicked up, eyes wide and sparking with something that Keith couldn’t identify. “Oh uh,” he hummed, gaze dropping down to the constant motion of the rag in his hand, “marine biology.”

Keith’s lungs fill with water, longing for the soft ocean currents along his long-lost gills or the power and freedom of a gliding through the water with a single flip of his tail. And Keith couldn’t help the excitement that flickered in his stomach like crackling flames.

Jowangshin, help him and these feelings that battered around in his ribs.

Because this was something so new. Would his Lance have gone into marine biology if their world was only slightly different? He knew how much his Lance loved the ocean -- the majority of all of the tales he spun while nestled in that windowsill on the castle were of Varadero beach -- but he didn’t know that his love was passionate enough to dedicate a career to.

Shaking his head, Keith drew himself from his thoughts to catch the nervous expression on Lance’s features. His bottom lip was clamped between his teeth as if he was expecting a scornful answer from Keith.

“That’s awesome.” Keith ignored the way Lance’s eyes suddenly snapped to his, lips parting softly. Invitingly. Scratching at the back of his neck, he tried to sound intelligent as he stumbled through another question. “Any thoughts of where you’ll end up? Like with a specific animal or focusing on ocean conservation or something like that?”

“A shark biologist,” Lance blurted, and by the rising blush in his cheeks, Keith could tell that he didn’t really mean to say anything past that.

But before Keith could say anything else, he spotted a curl of smoke behind one of the large coffee machines. Dropping the muffin, he sprinted to the single fire extinguisher, breaking the glass and enjoying the familiar weight in his hands.

Commotion ignited as unseen flames darkened the wall behind the coffee machine, threatening to consume the shop in minutes.

Lance’s looked around panicked, pressing his back against the counter as soon as he saw the curling, silver smoke.

“Get out!” Keith ordered as he marched up to the counter, jumping over and pointing the nozzle at the fire. With a couple jolting sprays, it appeared that the fire was out.

Lance collapsed against him, limbs trembling and eyes wide. “T-thank you,” he breathed and Keith fought the urge to lean in, kiss him and enjoy the taste of coffee on his lips. But this Lance wasn’t his Lance -- not that his Lance was _his Lance_.

He ordered Lance to call his manager while Keith called the fire station to get someone else down here to double check that this wouldn’t be an issue in the future.

Somehow he ended that day with the promise of a date with Lance. It was the first world he regretted leaving so soon.

  


**~~~~**

  


He missed that world the second he woke in the next, realizing he was only a spirit with no earthly body to possess. Rather than a body, he was bound to the small apartment building where Lance lived. It must have been his old house because he seemed acquainted with some of the layout, but there were obvious deviations from the familiarity that curled uncomfortably in his stomach. These deviations were along the lines of the three small apartments that divided the house.

Lance lived on the third floor, a newly renovated attic space where Keith’s bedroom had been when him and his dad had lived in this house -- and judging from his clothes, it was years ago. If he thought hard enough, he could almost see the rafters under the painted walls and fields of corn swaying in the backyard.

When Keith came to in this world, Lance was snuggled in a large comforter, hair curling around his ears and a peaceful set to his features. Reaching forward to brush some of the hair off Lance’s forehead, Keith’s fingers sunk through Lance like he was mist.

Snatching his hand back to his chest, Keith watched Lance shiver from his almost-touch, bringing the blanket more firmly up to his chin.

Realizing that he was unable to interact with anything, Keith just slumped in a corner and watched Lance get ready for the morning. It brought a small smile to his features. Lance was dancing around, blaring music from his phone and singing into his hair brush like he was the only person here -- not that he was exactly wrong about that.

But Keith couldn’t hate being a ghost when he got to see Lance so carefree like this. It was a part of the blue paladin that he didn’t realize he was so drawn to until the last universe he was in. It was a kind of innocence that was so absent in his world, absent from all of his teammates.

Lance finished getting ready, tossing his book bag over his shoulder and grabbing his car keys from a small hook next to the door. Bouncing down the stairs, Lance waved goodbye to an older neighbor grabbing her mail from the individual boxes by the front door.

Keith grumbled under his breath, following with silent footsteps and crossed arms -- because there was no way he was letting Lance out of his sight.

A small blue car was parked right out front of the building, and its lights flickered when Lance unlocked it, tossing his book bag in the passenger seat before sliding into the driver’s seat.

Keith’s mind was so fixated on how he was going to sink through the door of the car to sit in the back seat that he bit his tongue when he stopped. Like he had reached the end of his tether, he was stopped at the edge of the property. Glancing down, his foot hovered in the air, toes brushing against the sidewalk but no further. Raising his hands, Keith felt along an invisible wall that kept him trapped on this property, bound to this house he barely remembered, and away from the one thing that made this all worth it.

Screaming at the top of his lungs, Keith fought for Lance’s attention, because he couldn’t fight the clairvoyant anxiety that clawed in his stomach and the dread that fibrillated his dead heart. Keith watched Lance furrowed his brow and turn his music up before driving off down the road.

Scowling, Keith marched back to the house, settling himself down on the stoop, determined to wait for when Lance returned.

At dusk, Keith couldn’t fight the gnawing anxiety that chewed along his ribs like a teething monster. With a huff, he rose to his feet and stalked back into the apartment, ready to look through all of Lance’s things and try to figure out what was happening in this universe.

A voice stopped him.

It was the older woman from this morning. Lance’s neighbor. Her shoulders were hunched as she stood outside the first floor apartment. There was a tremble in her voice, and it made her appear frail as she grabbed the door knob for support.

“His friends called me knowing that I have the spare key for his apartment. They wanted to come get some of his things later in the week,” her voice was choked, and Keith walked slowly so that he could see the way horror twisted her expression into something pale and frightened. “I just -- he was so young.”

The woman on the other side of the door opened it all of the way, ripping the handle from the older lady’s grasp only to support her with a hug.

“I know. Stuff like this is never fair.”

And Keith could put two and two together.

Of course he was tasked with saving Lance when he was tethered to a place where Lance didn’t need his help. It was all beyond his reach.

But that didn’t stop him the next morning from trying to hide Lance’s keys. Except every time he reached, his fingers slipped through the metal and sunk into the wall where they hung.

Hissing a curse, Keith focused all of his energy to the very tips of his fingers, focused all the rage and helplessness that rattled in his ribs, focused all the pain that he’d forced himself to forget ( _all the blood, the death, and how that taste has settled into his tongue and the scent still lingered against his skin, and how he couldn’t forget every goddamn scene, the limpness of Lance’s body and the fragility to every interaction. the teeth. the hunger. the fire. the powerlessness._ )

The keys clattered as they flung off the hook and thudded for the floor.

Lance sat up suddenly in bed, hair curling in a mess of bed-head. With wide eyes, he scanned the room as his hands slowly released their grip on the comforter. Scratching at the back of his head and smacking his lips together, Lance picked up his keys and put them back on the hook.

“Well, that’s weird.” Glancing at his clock, Lance stretched and mumbled, “Might as well get ready.”

But of course it seemed that was the extent of Keith’s ghostly powers.

That didn’t stop him from practicing in Lance’s bedroom, rather than waiting for him on the stoop like some pitiful animal.

Gritting his teeth, he managed to flip a page of a textbook that was open on Lance’s desk. He shifted the chair and even managed to kick a shoe across the room. He had to prevent himself from reeking havoc when he heard Lance’s neighbors muffling tears down the hallway. Instead he struggled to think of a plan -- anyway to stop Lance from getting into his car and driving off to work.

So in the dawn of the next morning, Keith grabbed a marker from the desk and shakily wrote “Don’t Go” on the door before the pen disintegrated through his palm, landing on the ground and leaving him nothing but a spectral projection.

Lance bit off a scream when he reached for his keys and saw the message Keith had left him.

Scrambling for his phone, he took a picture and immediately called Pidge, half-screaming into the phone. “Like what the fuck? I know we joked about this place being haunted, but this is too much. Yeah, I know that I sleep walk. No, no, this is some next-level shit!” Shoving his keys into his pocket, Lance threw an extra set of clothes in his book bag. “Is it okay if I stay over tonight? Thank you, Pidge! You are a lifesaver!”

And he was gone again.

Keith cursed and enjoyed shattering a mug that once held all of Lance’s pens. It made him feel powerful, when he knew that he was really the most powerless he’d ever been.

Ultimately, his success was due to a theory he didn’t expect to work. Because if he could make himself interact with things on the living plane, there wasn’t a reason why he couldn’t be able to draw things into this spiritual realm he inhabited.

One morning, he somehow managed to hold the keys in his hands without struggling. He jingled them in front of Lance’s face and enjoyed the curses that dripped from his lips. Growling, Lance pulled up his phone and called for an Uber, complaining out loud to no one, because of course he didn’t realize that Keith was listening with the widest smile.

After Lance had left, Keith focused on returning the keys to the living world. His felt himself fluctuate with the force before the keys dropped through his hands and landed on the floor.

Lance burst back into his apartment at the start of twilight. The large windows colored the room in golden pinks and oranges that highlighted the blue of Lance’s eyes.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Lance grumbled as he plucked his keys from the center of the floor. Rubbing his head, Lance seemed to contemplate how he could have missed his keys here.

But Lance’s confusion was the least of Keith’s worries because Lance had made it back to the apartment. Because Lance had made it through the day. Because Keith had succeeded. Because Keith was able to watch Lance study at his desk as stars emerged in the sky, distant and dim with the light pollution of the city but present nonetheless. Because Keith couldn’t fight the smile that pulled at his lips as Lance opened a marine biology textbook.

  


**~~~~**

  


A harsh knock at the door woke him from his dreamless sleep, and he rushed to the door without thought, stumbling over the edges of his blanket and fumbling with the hand scanner on the interior of his door.

Yanking it open, he saw Shiro standing before him, draped in clothing he almost recognized. On the high-points of his cheekbones were purple Altean markings that seemed to glow under Shiro’s blush.

“You’re late for work, Keith,” Shiro began, eyes flicking down to the clothing Keith was wearing, or rather, lack thereof. “Please get dressed before you report to the Prince’s suite.”

Glancing down, Keith saw himself in pajama buttons that looked so similar to the paladin pajamas that Lance wore all the time. However, he wasn’t wearing a shirt and the soft purple fur of his body rose as a means to keep him warm.

“Y-yeah,” Keith’s voice cracked as he quickly shut the door on Shiro. “I’ll be there soon!”

His heart thundered in his chest as he threaded his fingers through his hair, only to catch on sensitive ears that perched atop his head. Biting off a scream, he ran to the nearest mirror that confirmed his worst nightmare: he was Galra -- fully Garla with purple fur and animalistic ears and canines that cushioned against his bottom lip. He was the murdering scum of the universe, the blood that filled his veins had taken control and drowned him in bloodlust.

Stumbling backwards onto his bed, Keith clenched his hands and squeezed his eyes closed. He should be accustomed to all of this strange transformations: mermaids, ghosts, vampires, and even zombies. But there was something more terrifying about becoming the thing he dreaded the most, an apparition from the nightmares that used to wake him in the middle of the night.

Gritting his teeth so loudly that he could hear the sound vibrating in his ears, Keith rose from the bed and tossed on the first outfit he could find. It was similar to his Trials of Marmora uniform, all black with glowing pink accents around his chest and neck; however, heavier armor lined his chest like the stuff Jowangshin’s Shiro would wear clanking around the castle. And he absolutely detested how awkward it was to wear.

He pushed open the door and prayed to the sense of familiarity to lead him to the Prince’s quarters without getting him lost in these hallways. The lights were all a pale blue that cast faint reflections across the metal walls. Homesickness roiled in his stomach since everything reminded him so much of the Castle of Lions, and he couldn’t fight the longing to finally be done with all of this.

That he could save Lance once and for all, and he would be free from his cosmic duty.

Steeling himself, he strode forward to a door that was so familiar in his mind that he knocked without thinking. A mumbled response came from within, and Keith responded with, “Your highness, it’s time to wake up.”

But there were no other sounds.

“Your highness?” Keith knocked again.

But still nothing.

Irritation bubbled in his stomach, and Keith growled. He never was a patient man. All he wanted to do was find Lance and keep him safe, but here he was, taking care of some spoiled royal.

Slamming his hand on the scanner outside the door, Keith walked in with his arms crossed against his chest and a scowl on his lips. “Your highness!”

A plume of white hair sat up quickly in the bed with a startled look to those familiar features. “What!? Huh?” The Prince rubbed the back of his hand over his ocean eyes, hair like snow curling around his pointed ears that had jewels dangling from them. And under those brilliant eyes were two blue Altean markings in his tanned skin.

Lance sat in the middle of the large bed, in a pile of fluffy blankets and pillows. Lance who looked like an Altean and wasn’t alarmed by Keith’s Galra appearance.

Tilting his head to the side, Lance regarded him with a quizative glare, “Why are you in my room, Keith?”

“Y-you, uh,” Keith scratched at the back of his neck and forced his mind to stop thinking of waking up next to Lance while he looked so sleeptosseled and well-rested. He wore pajamas so similar to the ones from the Castle of Lions that Keith’s heart clenched seeing the sleeve fall off Lance’s shoulder, leaving it bare and gleaming in the dim lights of the bedroom. “You slept in,” Keith coughed, fighting the blush that crawled up the back of his neck.

Stretching his hands over his head, Lance fell back in bed with a grown, “But I don’t want to get up. Haven’t you heard of beauty sleep, Keith?”

“You don’t need anymore,” Keith mumbled under his breath. “You’re already beautiful enough.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing!” Keith yelled, taking a step back so he was in the threshold to the room rather than standing in the middle of the Prince’s bedroom. Coughing, he cleared his throat and allowed himself to fall back into the familiar formality between them. “Please, your highness, it’s time to get up.”

Lance turned over, grumbling softly into the pillow, “Lance. I keep telling you to call me Lance.”

“What was that?” Keith’s throat tightened at the way Lance attempted to close the distance between them.

“I said,” Lance sat up abruptly, crossing his arms and looking so petulant with his messy hair and pout, “that I can’t believe Allura assigned me the most boring bodyguard. Now get out!” Keith dodged the pillow that was thrown directly at his head.

With a chuckle, he stepped out of the room and let the doors hiss shut behind him.

He placed a hand over his face as if to hide his flaming blush from the empty hallway. How was it possible that Lance looked so radiant in every reality? Were these just his feelings or was the Keith of this realm also hopelessly in love with Lance?

Throughout the day, Keith couldn’t fight the urge to keep his eyes on Lance, analyzing the way he spun stories with those lithe fingers or the soft sound of his bracelets jiggling with each hand movement. The royal blue of his outfit only served to bring out the cresting ocean in his eyes, the color of seafoam and the horizon at noon.

Was it because his gaze was so fixated on Lance that he missed the signs? Or was he too ignorant of this foreign world -- where Galra and Altea lived in peace and there was no Voltron that called to his soul -- to catch the smallest inconsistencies?

Whatever the reason, Keith didn’t expect insurgents to leap from the large columns of the castle and attack with arrows that dripped with poison. Pulling Lance behind him, Keith growled, shoulders hunching and claws dropping and bloodlust singing in his veins.

He would protect Lance.

An arrow pierced him in the shoulder, saturating his muscles with poison as he pushed Lance to safety. He relished in the sensation of flesh underneath his nails, and his mouth salivated at the possibility of tearing the flesh from their bones.

But Keith collapsed in a heep of foam and unseeing eyes as Lance was killed beside him. With numb fingers, Keith reached out, desperate to touch Lance as the blood oozed from the slit in his neck and his eyes went glassy.

He woke with a gasp on his lips and anger like Jowangshin’s all-consuming flames.

His eyes were fixated on the columns of every hallway, shoulder pressed closed to Lance and rather than enjoying the faint heat of his skin, all Keith could think of was the bitterness of his blood matting Keith’s fur.

After one meeting, close to the time when the attack was to begin, Keith whispered in Lance’s ear in an empty hallway, “There’s going to be an attack on the castle today. A coup d'etat.”

“A what?” Lance laughed at Keith’s verbiage, hiding the panic in his eyes with the strangeness of Keith’s words.

After a week of the same horrible battle, Keith pulled Shiro into his room with harsh fingers the second before the black paladin could knock.

“There’s going to be an attack on the castle today.”

Thankfully Shiro was still his best friend in this universe as he had been in every single realm Keith had been to -- a loyal and faithful friend to the very end -- he believed Keith with only a single word.

The battles went a little more smoothly after that, but it still seemed impossible to get Lance to safety when poisoned arrows were flying all around them and the Prince cowered at his back, fingers tightening in his armor and slowing them both down.

One day, Keith dragged Lance to his room rather than the last meeting, determined to keep Lance safe, no matter the consequences.

“Stay here!” Keith growled, throwing Lance in his room and standing sentry outside. Ignoring Lance’s pounding at the door, Keith clenched the knife at his back, ready to transform it and behead anyone that dared hurt Lance. “This is for your safety!”

But Lance didn’t answer, and the quiet unnerved Keith more than he could possibly say.

Rushing into the room, Keith saw Lance bleeding on the floor, hand prints against the door as if he begged for Keith’s help with his dying breath.

The next morning he woke Lance up with a question, “Can you fight?”

Lance rubbed at his eyes and smacked his lips after a wide yawn. “All I can do is shoot a ceremonial bow if that’s what you mean? Are you convincing Father to train me, Keith? Because I’ve seen the guard practices, and I’m alright without partaking.” His smile was wide, but Keith’s mind was elsewhere, thinking of a solution to finally free them from the horrible end of the day.

Somehow arming Lance with a bow made all the difference in the battle -- and Keith struggled not to think about the meaning of that; if Lance could defend himself, why was Keith traveling for months to save him?

But he couldn’t hate the outcome of today, watching the victorious smile on Lance face. “We did it!” Lance shouted, rushing into Keith’s arms for a tight and too short hug. Giving him a gentle peck on the cheek, Lance smiled so warmly that Keith felt his knees buckle, “Thank you, Keith.”

“Anything for you,” Keith breathed, watching as Lance was pulled away from him and to the King’s warm embrace, “Lance.”

After a celebratory feast with enough alcohol to turn his blood to wine, Keith curled into his bed. His mind still spun with libations as he longed for a world apart from the Castle of Lions, because living here for the past two weeks was too painful on his soul. It was too close to home and made claws of longing dig even deeper into his heart.

There were so many things he longed for -- to be finished, to hear Jowangshin again, to pilot Red, to return to the castle and forget all of the horrors but remember the small moments of joy he’d experienced -- that wishing for a universe so far removed from the Castle of Lions seemed like a simple enough wish.

Closing his eyes, he dreamed of _his_ Lance and all that had left behind.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was only supposed to be like 5k...but here we are, so I hope you enjoyed it haha I had waaaay too many ideas for this chapter, but it was already self-indulgently long as is!! (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ
> 
> Several people commented about wondering what was going to happen since all of my tags were over! I admittedly didn't want to tag all this stuff because each AU is only so briefly mentioned in the whole scale of the fic!!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed and thank you so much for all of your wonderful kudos, comments, and messages! They make my day (≧◡≦) ♡


	53. Intermission: Next to Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from the song "Worlds Apart" by Seven Lions!

They were all gathered in the command center, listening to Shiro review their plan to take Naxzela with all of the recruits, new and old. The Blade of Marmora stood at attention in one corner while the rebels, gathered through the Coalition and Voltron Show, stood in another. The expressions around the room were stern and determined, and it was enough to send a tremor of anxiety crawling up Lance’s spine.

With a huff, Lance slung an arm over Hunk’s shoulders, trying to relax in this tense atmosphere while ignoring the purring bloodlust from Red.

Lance fought the way his lips instinctively twisted into a dark smile, so desperate to drown himself in Red’s vengeance and take something precious from the Galra -- like they had taken from him, trapped Keith in a cryopod for months and months and months.

Shiro’s voice faltered when the familiar alarm went off, echoing in the command center and causing those from the rebel force to jump. Shooting Pidge an irritated look, Shiro crossed his arms, anxious to finish this meeting without distraction.

A couple months ago, Allura had talked to Pidge about disabling the alarm. It had been going on for weeks that bled into months, an uncomfortable reminder of Keith’s haunting presence. Pidge declined, marching to her computer and putting on her headphones. She promptly ignored Allura for the rest of the week.

When Shiro had brought it up several weeks ago, Pidge growled something under her breath and only made the alarm louder in revenge.

So no one had mentioned it since.

Pidge rolled her eyes at Shiro’s clear disapproval. With a small sigh, she pulled up the video feed on the gauntlet of her paladin armor with reluctance.

The alarm silenced quickly with Pidge’s the swift typing. Just as Shiro was about to begin again, Lance’s gaze was quickly drawn to Pidge at the sound of her stifled wail. She swayed into Matt’s arms with glassy eyes as she gazed up from the holo-screen.

The room went deathly quiet as her face twisted into something Lance didn’t recognize. He felt his arm drop from Hunk’s shoulders, fingers trembling as the tension in the room filled to bursting, brushing against his chest and threatening to suffocate him.

Red was oddly silent in his mind.

“He’s awake,” Pidge breathed, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe the words bubbling from her lips. Shiro opened his mouth to speak, but Pidge screamed through the shaking fingers pressed to her mouth, “He’s awake!”

Without another word, Lance was sprinting down the hallway, ignoring the painfully distant memory of carrying a half-unconscious Keith in his arms -- the weight of his limp body, the smell of his sheets, the comforting purr of Red, the memories of his voice that seemed so distant during the day but so close in his dreams.

Footsteps echoed behind him, slipping and skidding in their frantic race to the podbay. The hallways were much too long, stretching on and on and no matter how many steps he took it never seemed to end.

But there was an impending sense of dread, hanging low and heavy on Lance’s shoulders. The thought that what if Keith had changed or stayed exactly the same when all of them had watched him for days and months on end.

And the guilt that he had buried exhumed itself with a vengeance, ripping through his lungs and bringing tears to his eyes. Because how did he explain to Keith that he spent months in a cryopod because he sacrificed himself for Lance. Wasn’t one self-sacrificing team member enough?

The door to the podbay hissed open, and Lance abruptly stopped in the threshold, breath rushing from his chest and heart thundering to a stop at the sight.

Keith had a single hand on the edge of the cryopod, keeping his balance, grown hair curling around his shoulders. His eyes were unfocused, brow sweaty and limbs shaking with the effort of standing. The pod suit cinched around his body, ribs and joints almost visible through the thin fabric.

Shiro shouldered past Lance, rushing into the room with a sobbing, “Keith!”

Lance felt himself falter, eyes tethered to the boy standing in the blue glow of the cryopod. And like he was pulled by gravity, Lance stepped forward, drawn towards Keith’s frail figure.

At the sound of Shiro’s voice, Keith looked up. Seeing the look on his face almost confirmed all of Lance’s fears: Keith had changed.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿
> 
> Did I post three chapters a month ago so that I could post these two chapters together and leave off on a cliffhanger? Was this the elaborate, evil plan I joked about?? Why I never ψ(` ∇ ´)↷ ~~mwuhahahahaha~~


	54. Next to Me (you are)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for not answering everyone's wonderful comments last week -- I honestly read them over and over, but I was going through a little bit of a depressive episode so it was hard for me to answer. That's also why this chapter is a day late. I was struggling with it a lot, so I hope you enjoy Keith's homecoming!! (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ
> 
>  ****small warning for this chapter**** Keith experiences several panic attacks in this chapter, so please be careful -- if needed I can put a summary in at the bottom or give you a detailed summary in the comments, just let me know! Stay safe  <3

Waking was a cold, distant feeling like coming back from a dream that holds tight to your consciousness with bitter fingers and jagged nails. Accustomed to waking somewhere unfamiliar, Keith let consciousness wash over him, bringing him back to reality with a stinging slap.

The hiss of a door and the breath of warmth on his skin encouraged him to open his eyes. The room was sterile, blank and crafted of high-tech metals with blue lights running through them. So familiar it was an ache in his heart, a stuttering of his values.

All he had wanted was a world of fantasy so far removed from his own. Yet, after whispered prayers in the replica of the Castle of Lions, he appeared here — and even the damn smell was the same, like Coran had been recently cleaning the podbay with that expired Altean disinfectant.

Keith took a tentative step forward, but his knees ached and threatened to give out underneath his unsteady stance. His bare hand gripped at the edge of the pod for shear stability, but his fingers were weak, trembling with the force.

It was like he was inhabiting a corpse, heart skipping in his chest to pump blood through stiff arteries, frozen and petrified.

The suit he was wearing felt awkward, suctioned to his figure and made of material so thick it restricted all of his movements. Brushing a numb hand through his hair, Keith felt his fingers catch in the knots at the ends, longer than his reality and longer than most he had been in. The ends of his hair dipped into his collarbones and tickled his jaw.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, his hand dropped back to his side as his gaze darted to the door.

Lance stood in the threshold to the room, so similar to _his_ Lance it made Keith’s bones ache. Hair danced across his forehead and rumpled against the collar of his paladin armor, but there was a heaviness to his shoulders and bags under his eyes. Several pimples dotted his perfect skin, and Keith almost laughed at the ridiculous notion of _his_ Lance’s face routine.

But it was all the little differences in the Lance’s Keith had met that allowed him to keep his sanity, to differentiate them and keep moving forward.

Shiro barreled past Lance, all clawing desperation. “Keith!” His voice was an echo, bringing back so many memories, times when his best friend had begged him with to end his life around moans of hunger and snapping jaws. He longed for Jowangshin and the Shiro her realm provided, a glimpse of the peaceful past.

Keith closed his eyes and exhaled a shaky sigh. Gritting his teeth, he gave his friend a weak smile, mentally preparing himself to figure out where the hell he was, in this world that looked so similar to his own.

“Hey Shiro,” Keith breathed, voice a croak as if he hadn’t spoken in months or years.

Trembling hands wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him tightly against the firmness of Shiro’s paladin armor. The black paladin’s fingers dug deeply into his back as if tethering him to this world and ensuring that he was real.

Keith let go of the cryopod, supported by Shiro’s crushing hug. Gently rubbing calming circles into his friend’s back, Keith tried to soothe the shake of Shiro’s shoulders with every shuddering breath. Closing his eyes, Keith let himself enjoy the warmth against his shivering body.

“Keith,” Shiro sobbed, only tightening his grip and nestling his head against Keith’s hair. It seemed like Shiro couldn’t say anything other than his name, so Keith just shushed him quietly.

There was no spark of familiarity to guide him, no explanation as to why Shiro was so distraught. And Keith wasn’t sure if that made this world more terrifying or not.

A small gasp made him turn his cheek against Shiro’s chest, gaze settling on the door. Allura stood there, grabbing onto Coran’s back and burying her face in his shoulder blades. Coran bit his lip and held a single hand in front of his face as if to hide the tears that ran into his mustache. Pidge was clutching to a man that looked so similar to her, fingers dug deeply into his cape -- it looked like he was choking, but he only softly petted her hair to calm her. Hunk appeared to be the only thing holding Lance up, large arms wrapped around his shoulders as tears stained his armor. A familiar sight: their love for each other.

Shiro finally pulled away, holding Keith at an arm's length to look him over. Furrowing his brow, Keith traced the clear lines of stress that had deepened in Shiro’s features -- how could the universe put this man through so much.

Ignoring the puffiness of Shiro’s eyes, Keith turned to his team. But there was nothing to guide him, no hint from this world that looked too similar to his own. Forcing a smile, he took on a jovial tone, mimicking Lance when he’d stepped from the cryopod the first time -- because if there was anyone who could turn this depressing scene into something upbeat, it was Lance. “Why all the long faces?”

He was attempting to find his stride in this new world. The first days were always the hardest, searching for his footing or his magic or the intricate details of the home world that he should’ve already known.

He waited for the sense of familiarity to wash over him and direct him, but it only hovered like a nauseating sense of deja vu.

“ _‘Why the long faces?’_ ” Pidge barked, letting go of her brother and striding up to Keith. She gave a gentle slap to his arm, “You idiot! We’ve been waiting for you for _months_!”

Keith ruffled Pidge’s hair, and she didn’t attempt to smack his hand away, instead just wearing a petulant frown. Her bottom lip was tucked between her teeth like she was trying to stop her chin from wobbling with suppressed tears.

Keith remembered the way she hugged him when Lance had died all those days ago, or when she let him hug her after their visit to the scavenger camp, burying his face into her shirt and trembling and crying and losing every sense of dignity he had in order to regain a fraction of his humanity.

Fingers slowing in Pidge’s hair, his hand fell back to his side, tensing with each slow heartbeat. His smile grew heavy on his features, hard to hold in this solemn atmosphere.

“Well, I’m sure the castle was more peaceful without Lance and me fighting all the time,” he chuckled, waiting for them to laugh in response or for Lance to jump up and insult him back.

But they all froze.

And Keith fought back a groan. He fucking hated tiptoeing around his teammates each time he appeared in a new universe, because there were always intricacies that he never remembered.

Lance tensed, pulling himself from Hunk’s hold with an expression that Keith had trouble placing, even after watching Lance through so many universes. Hunk’s arms dropped, swinging uselessly at his hips -- hands that commanded so much respect, directing canons, cooking food, swinging axes, shaping lives.

Brushing off Hunk’s imploring gaze, Lance strode towards Keith. With each step closer, Keith could see the familiar cowlick of his hair, the way he clenched his hands with thumbs tucked under, the strong set to his shoulders. Every Lance he’d met so far was so familiar yet distinctly different, but this one was so similar to _his_ Lance that bile bubbled in his stomach.

Keith tilted his head and smiled.

Lance punched him lightly in the chest, a mimicry of the playful rivalry they had had before this whole twisted cycle started -- and a mockery of the touch he really wanted.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Lance’s voice was a whisper, barely audible over the hum of the air vents and the hiss of the cryopod returning to the floor. The blue paladin landed another soft punch against his chest, but the words were heavier, sinking into the marrow of Keith’s bones and pulling tight on his ribs.

“Peaceful?” Lance growled, fists striking a little harder, “How the hell could it be peaceful when we were all worried about you?” Keith took a small step backward into Shiro’s supporting hold, watching the way Lance’s features twisted: brows furrowed and lips pulled tight in a snarl. “Peaceful?! While you were sleeping away, we were all waiting day and night for you for months!”

His punches were weak against Keith’s chest -- as if he couldn’t think of any other way to convey the emotions that saturated his words -- until Keith brought a single hand up and caught Lance’s wrist. He stopped, finally tilting his head up to see Keith’s expression. Whatever he saw there, made his fists fall to his sides.

Familiarity tingled on his tongue, so startling acute that his lungs constricted. Because there was something so real about the recognition that flared like flames in his stomach.

Keith turned to look at Shiro, looking for the answers he was desperately missing. “What happened?”

“While you were asleep?” Allura answered, stepping out from behind Coran with an almost schooled expression of joy. But there was still a tremble to her lips and a tint of pink above her Altean markings.

“Right before.” Keith’s eyes darted to Lance, watching the way he pulled back into himself, a lightning strike of horror across his features.

Shiro cleared his throat and curled a calming hand around Keith’s shoulder, as if longing to draw Keith back against his chest. “We were fighting Zarkon, and you jumped in front of the komar to save Lance. You--you almost didn’t make it.”

By the reservation in Shiro’s tone, Keith knew there was something he wasn’t mentioning.

Shaking his head, Keith blinked and gazed up at Shiro -- because this couldn’t be possible. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, hands tightening to fists at his sides and struggling to keep the bitter hope from rising in his chest, “but what did you just say?”

“We were battling Zarkon --” Pidge began, tone soft and quiet and unlike anything Keith remembered -- the way she commanded them in the zombie universe or defended her purpose under the water or the way she’s led him through the series of hallways in that maximum security prison.

“In space?” Keith could see the way confusion darkened his teammates face as if they feared the worst. “With the lions?”

“Yes,” Allura answered, stepping closer to their small huddle by the closed cryopod. “Keith, is everything --”

Trembling, Keith stumbled out of Shiro’s grip, the hot and heavy grip that was the only thing keeping him rooted to this reality. He couldn’t hear Allura as the room spun, tilted dramatically to one side and then the other. His skull felt detached, filled with helium while mortar settled into his joints, sinking deep into his heels and making him stumble to his knees.

The ground was a haunting impact that shuddered through his body, threatening to shatter him at the seams.

Someone may have called his name, but the room wouldn’t stop spinning even as his fingers curled against the metal flooring. Nails long and pristine. No dirt under them, no blood or poison or magic or--

_Red._

If this was _his_ reality where was Red?

He steadied his breathing long enough to reach out for her, waiting for her to purr, growl, reprimand him for leaving her for so long. There was only silence. An echoing silence that carved into his heart and scarred his lungs as he tried to inhale.

Silence that shattered with a single roar -- one that vibrated through the floor of the castle underneath his fingertips. Red, so desperate and purring and showing him a violent slideshow of everything he endured the that time he inhabited this castle. His lion was here, comforting and embracing him and promising him home and revenge and someone who could understand, who could peer through dimensions and watch all of his struggles.

He was finally home.

Had he finally done it?

There wasn’t enough air in space. Not enough to stop his racing heart that pounded and pounded in his ears over the soft purr of the red lion. Not enough to steady the room or stop the rush of tears down his cheeks, dotting the flooring and blurring his vision beyond recognition.

His stomach clenched, heaving and vomiting nothing but bile that stung and ripped through his throat like poisoned claws.

Because after _everything_ , was it finally over?

Was it finally over? Or would he wake to smoke and embers and blood and the stench of victory and the call of another goddess?

Someone was screaming.

Was it him?

Jowangshin, help him. He was drowning, lungs consumed by fire and carbon dioxide coating his veins and stealing all breath from his body. Red, help him. He was falling, an asteroid in space spinning on with remnants of energy and fragments of memories.

Because if he wasn’t protecting Lance, what purpose was holding back the hordes of memories that threatened to hold him under the briny ocean and drown him, sacrificing him to Yemaya and the queen of the mermaids. Memories that threatened to throw him into snapping, hungering jaws. Memories that threatened to kill him only to revive him to suffer more.

He could feel the firm grip of unconsciousness on the edges of his mind, claws digging into the soft lobes of his mind. But he couldn’t surrender, not when this could all be a dream, a fevered delusion of success. Not when he could lose everything before him in a single blink.

Tasting ash and bile on his tongue, the darkness consumed him. His last thought was a prayer that he woke up to Red’s soft purring and the support of the team he’d desperately longed for.

  


**~~~~**

  


Keith woke to the soothing scent of vanilla and cedar. Pulling the blanket up to his chin, he was desperate to return to the gentle dreamless sleep that left him rested for once. It was these moments, between the darkness of unconsciousness and full wakefulness that Keith loved to linger. It allowed him to forget the looming dread that traced chilling patterns down his back, allowed him to forget his haunting purpose.

A soft purr in the back of his mind pulled him from the delicate limbo. It was such a familiar presence that Keith’s eyes snapped open. Jolting upright in bed, he glanced around the room, barren and exactly like he’d left it all those months ago.

Remembering that he was finally home wasn’t a slap to the face or a thunderous realization; it was a gentle exhale that fell from his lips. But his relief caught on that persistent anxiety that wound in his stomach, desperate to make him question why he had returned. Because what if it wasn’t all over?

Keith pulled himself from the bed that smelled so familiar to the one he’d slept in during those first repeating days -- tucking himself into Lance’s sheets and burying his tears in the sweet scent of vanilla.

He realized that he was dressed in those silken paladin pajamas that Lance always wore. While the pants bunched around his ankles, the sleeves swayed around his palms and the deep “v” of the shirt showed the fine imprints of ribs along his sternum. Rolling the sleeves up, he marched from his room, relishing in the gentle familiarity of everything around him: the gentle glow of the blue lights, the familiar clean scent, the soft sound of his feet padding against the metal flooring.

Meandering through the hallways, Keith checked the kitchen and living room for the rest of the paladins, desperate to soothe the anxiety that bubbled like acid in his chest.

But there was something so different about returning here after so long. How many days had he been trapped in that spiral of time -- in the days when these walls were his only home or when he’d longed to return with every fiber of his being?

Pidge and Lance had said something about months?

Huffing a sigh, he pushed his hand against the keypad to the command room, stepping inside after the soft hiss of the door. His steps paused the second he was through the threshold, finally registering the amount of people gathered inside the room.

There was a group of Blade members off to the side, a majority wearing their masks and surrounding the familiar face of Kolivan.

Another group was near Pidge’s brother, standing in mismatched uniforms like they were pieced together from scraps and hand-me-downs. And there were familiar faces in that crowd too: Nyma and Rolo standing with their arms crossed and a determined set to their features.

But his analysis of the potentially dangerous people gathered around his friends was cut short but Shiro’s voice, “Keith, are you sure you should be up?”

“Who’s everyone?” Keith asked, blatantly ignoring Shiro’s question and crossing his arms -- thin, so much thinner than every other universe, like he was some frail and withered thing.

“Are you sure you’re up to talk about this? You deserve to rest,” Shiro smiled, stepping away from the center of the room and the projection of stars to place a warm hand on Keith’s shoulder. Meeting his gaze, Keith saw the genuine compassion and concern in those gunmetal irises. It was so familiar that it made Keith think of the first time Shiro reprimanded him outside of the principal’s office.

Shrugging off Shiro’s hand, Keith bumped his best friend in the chest with the back of his fist. “I think I’ve rested enough.”

His gaze dropped from Shiro’s face, worry well hidden under that bright smile, and flitted across the group. Allura’s lips were slightly parted as if she wanted to debate Keith’s statement about resting, but Coran gave her a soft smile and shook his head.

And as if drawn by gravity, by the sheer force of the universe, Keith’s eyes landed on Lance’s figure. There was an unfamiliar stiffness to his shoulders that Keith was unaccustomed to, dark circles under his eyes that rivaled the Lance from the zombie universe. And the way his hair swept across his forehead and curled against the neck of his paladin armor was so familiar but so starkly different from the close cut it had been before he’d left. Then there were his eyes, gaze heavy and weighted as if checking every inch of Keith for injury, hidden underneath the baggy pajamas. And those lithe fingers -- the ones that tamed oceans and shot zombies with deadly accuracy and made delicious coffees -- were clenched in fists at his sides, as if he was struggling to hold back his words.

But when had his Lance ever tempered his tongue?

“We’re planning our next attack against the Galra,” Coran piped up from Allura side, clasping his hands behind his back and smiling broadly. “Our plan is take out a linchpin in the Galra’s offensive line.”

“So Zarkon’s still alive?” Keith growled, bloodlust bubbling in his veins thirsty for powers that had claimed his sanity before.

“No,” Pidge breathed as she stood up from her chair and walked beside him, “but that didn’t stop Sendak from claiming a large chunk of the Empire after he died.”

At the end of her sentence, the tension in the room seemed to double, a weighted fog that settled on the paladin’s shoulders. Kolivan stiffened and the grim set to his features appeared to deepen -- if that was even possible.

So there was history there. History that Keith had missed.

“So we’ll need Voltron?” Keith straightened and enjoyed the delighted purr Red made in the back of his mind, hungry for victory and for her original paladin.

But somehow, the tension grew, magnified and consumed everyone in the room, leaving them breathless and diverting their gaze.

Lance stepped forward, chin lifted and brows lowered as if he was already challenging Keith before speaking. And something about it was so similar to the way this Lance had looked at him before their secluded talks in the hallways; it made Keith’s heart ache, constricting around nothing but shards of frozen blood.

His voice was nothing like the playful blue paladin Keith knew from his memories, the jovial joking tone that lifted the hearts of every team member. “I pilot Red now.”

The words floated in the thick air around them, and Keith shook his head as if trying to register what they meant. They contrasted so greatly to Red’s pleading, the constant purring of “ _let’s go, let’s fly_ ” that rattled in his mind.

But was it a great surprise that the paladins found a way to make Voltron without him? No, because Allura had piloted Red in his steed that one day -- the day where he stood in this very command center and helplessly watched his friends die, only able to pick their remains from the rubble after the battle.

“Allura pilots Blue,” Lance continued, gaze darting to the ground as if he was struggling to meet Keith’s wide eyes.

“So you can stay and rest,” Hunk jumped in as if trying to placate Keith’s nonexistent anger. “We can work everything out after the battle.” The yellow paladin scratched at the back of his neck as if dreading Keith’s reaction.

Keith couldn’t fight the small smile that crossed his features at seeing Hunk so bashful, so contrasting to the axe-wielding, world-hardened Hunks he had come across. Keith’s smile seemed to give the others a pause, watching the small twist of his lips like it was something so foreign, something so haunted.

“I’m glad you were able to form Voltron without me. The universe needs Voltron,” he admitted, gaze shifting to Shiro’s falling smile. “And isn’t it about time for your retirement anyway, old man?”

Shiro wrapped a hand around Keith’s shoulders, pulling him against his chest and rubbing his knuckles against Keith’s scalp while playfully growling, “Who’s an old man, huh?”

And Keith couldn’t fight the laugh that bubbled from his chest.

This is what he’d been longing for -- that sense of loving and familiarity and the distant sense of dread that seemed to accompany them since they entered space.

There was nothing looming, threatening to destroy this fragile peace Keith had come to enjoy.

His gaze fell back to Lance as if by instinct, training for months to constantly search out the blue paladin, to keep him close, to keep him in his sights, to keep him safe. Lance leaned against one of chairs, a softness to his features that made breath still in Keith’s chest -- so familiar to the way Lance looked at him before they kissed, thighs pressing against that prison cot and lips warm and cresting like the ocean.

Swallowing harshly, Keith tore his eyes away, because there was the faint memory of blood and ash on his tongue and Hunk’s fingers wrapped so casually around Lance’s torso.

Before he could say anything else, his stomach growled, perfectly audible to all in the room. A light flush crawled up his cheeks as Shiro smirked and shook him slightly. “Yeah, we should definitely get you something to eat.”

“I’ll go,” Lance offered, stepping forward and letting Keith look him over once more, like he hadn’t memorized the length of Lance’s legs or the confidence of his stride from all the universes he’d been in. “I already know the plan, so I can get Keith something to eat while you guys iron out the details.”

They walked down the hallway in a comfortable silence, and Keith didn’t try to fight the pleasant buzz of memories that filled his mind.

All those casual conversations about anything and everything. Every whispered word in Spanish. How familiar Keith became with every one of Lance’s movements, the lithe twist of his fingers and the subtle smiles and frequent tapping of his feet and fingertips.

He chuckled at the memories, almost startled by the unfamiliar birth of laughter on his lips after so many days of muted darkness, of allowing himself to wallow in the fog of despair. But each conversation was like a star pinned into the night sky of his depression, and finally his days were illuminated with every memory and every shared word.

Lance interrupted Keith’s thoughts with a jovial sentence, bouncing on the balls of his feet and lacing his fingers together behind his head. “Oh, I don’t know if anyone told you, but we made contact with Earth! We found Sam and Matt Holt when a sizable portion of the empire collapsed. You saw Matt in the command center, but Sam went back to Earth and is now helping to bolster their defenses in case Sendak decides to attack.” He didn’t meet Keith’s gaze, so he allowed himself to watch the way the words tumbled from Lance’s lips.

“That must be comforting,” Keith added, enjoying the way Lance nodded enthusiastically in response. “Have you had a chance to talk with your family?”

“A little,” Lance mumbled with a small frown twitching at the corners of his lips. “We risk Sendak discovering where Earth is by having an extended connection with them, so we haven’t been able to talk longer than about ten minutes a day.”

Keith played with the rolled sleeve of his pajamas as he chuckled to himself, “I’m surprised that Veronica and Rachel haven’t stolen a spaceship to come visit you yet.”

Lance tipped his head back and barked a laugh at that, eyes crinkling in the corners like he was finally truly happy -- unlike all those half smiles that didn’t reach his ocean eyes. “Oh, I’m sure they would’ve tried if I hadn’t told Commander Iverson to keep an eye on them.”

“If Veronica ruined Maroc’s prom just for accidentally taking her crush, I don’t even what to know what kind of reception they’ll give you when you return from _space_ ,” Keith chuckled, shaking his head and glancing at Lance out of the corner of his eyes.

Something flashed across Lance’s expression too fast for Keith to place.

“I’ll just have to find some alien to make me a trophy to hide behind.” Lance smiled, but there was something missing, something that lingered in the gaze that pinned Keith, making these pajamas feel too thin and too large on his shrunken frame.

They entered the kitchen as Keith mentally berated himself. He’d mentioned something that this Lance didn’t remember telling him -- a story lost to the turning of time, trapped only within Keith’s memory.

After marching into the kitchen, Lance turned around, spreading his arms and motioning to the cabinets around them. “So what’re you in the mood for?”

Crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow, Keith played along, challenging the playful smirk on Lance’s features. “I would kill for a cheeseburger and fries.”

“Is swiss cheese okay?”

Keith’s mind stuttered to a stop watching as Lance pulled familiar foods from the confines of the fridge: burgers and fruits and cheese and pasta and everything he’d dreamed about after being trapped with food goo for too long.

Nodding slowly, Keith averted his gaze from Lance as the blue paladin fixed him something to eat. He settled into a seat at the counter, forcing himself to relax and ignore the dread that curled in his stomach, a newly developed instinct that threatened to choke him.

But before the feeling could rise to his skin like bubbling carbonation, Lance began talking, “Magical isn’t it? Sam sent us a whole bunch of food.” There was a lightness to his tone that Keith fell into. “Unfortunately, all the fresh stuff isn’t going to last all that much longer, but we have boxes of all that astronaut food and MREs -- not that they’re the best,” Lance grumbled under his breath.

“Better than food goo though,” Keith chuckled watching the burger crackle with oil on the Altean version of a stove.

Lance tipped his head back with a bark of a laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners and lips staying curled in a half smile. Keith propped his cheek in his palm and allowed himself to watch Lance cook, fingers so commanding like he was once again making coffee in that small store. He wanted to stop the way his eyes tracked all of Lance’s movements, fondness so evident in his gaze, but he couldn’t -- didn’t have the will to stop himself.

This was _his Lance_.”

“Sorry,” Lance breathed with the small shake of his head, “I’m sure Hunk would be better at this.” Lance pushed a plate with a large burger towards him. Wiping at his brow with the back of his hand, Lance smiled brightly and said, “But bon appétit!”

A comfortable silence settled between them as Keith fought the small moans of delight while he chewed his first bite of real food in months. Or course, there had been food in other realms, but between granola bars eaten in a damp forest or catching a swimming fish between his pointed teeth, Keith didn’t have a lot of familiar options.

Unfortunately, he only made it halfway when his stomach protested against the speed of his half-chewed bites. Not only was he thinner, but his body was unaccustomed to eaten after having been sustained by the cryopod for months.

“So, you and Red, huh?” Keith leaned back, setting his half-eaten burger back down on the plate and wiping the juices from his fingers on a napkin.

Lance stiffened at the question, bottom lip trapped between his teeth and eyes tracing the lines in the metal flooring. “Yeah,” he mumbled, scratching at the back of his neck and tilting his gaze up to pin Keith with a bashful smile. Keith struggled to identify the foreign emotion buried beneath that small grin, so unrecognizable on Lance’s features. After a moment, he hissed in a breath, identifying the feeling that had plagued his heart for months: guilt.

“We both really missed you, so,” Lance exhaled as means of an explanation, but he flailed the second those words left his mouth, waving his hands frantically. “Well, I mean the whole team did.”

And Keith could almost see Lance in that dimly lit hallway in Allura’s medieval castle, fingers clasped in his tunic and cheeks glistening with tears, _“Goddess above, we love you Keith!”_

“Thanks for taking care of Red,” Keith breathed, truly meaning it, truly thankful that Red protected the Lance in his absence.

Freezing at his soft words, Lance met Keith’s gaze with wide ocean eyes, colored like the tips of foaming waves. That clearly wasn’t the response he was expecting from Keith.

“And thanks for the burger,” Keith mumbled, lifting himself out of the seat and stepping on the baggy hem of his pajama pants. “I think I’m going to go shower. I smell like cleaning supplies,” he chuckled and waved to Lance over his shoulder as he exited the room that lay covered in a film of half-forgotten memories like a layer of dust.

  


**~~~~**

  


The shower made him feel a little more human, allowing the dream that he might really be free settle into his bones.

He was toweling off his dripping hair when a sharp knock sounded at his door. Draping his towel across his shoulders, Keith called out, “Come in.”

The door opened with a faint hiss, showing Shiro standing in the hallway in his paladin uniform, cleaned and polished. He looked every bit the commander that Keith watched step into the space shuttle for the Kerberos mission, the grave weight of responsibility settled in his expression.

“We going to be taking off soon, and I thought you might want to watch with Coran in the command center.” His smile was placating as he leaned his weight on one hip. “I know how restless you can get.”

After dropping his towel in the laundry basket and slipping back into his cropped, red jacket, Keith sighed, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

  


**~~~~**

  


Something was wrong.

The dread was so heavy in his stomach that bile clawed at the back of his throat. His hands clenched and twitched at his sides as if desperate for the weight of his bayard or the distant memory of a crowbar. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he watched the holoscreen projected before both Coran and him; it displayed the locations of the rebel fighters and the Galra cruisers surrounding the zaiforge cannons and Naxzela.

There hadn’t been contact from Voltron in the last ten minutes.

“Something’s wrong,” Keith breathed.

Coran turned to him with wide and curious eyes; his hands were folded behind his back and his eyebrow quirked in question. “What makes you say that, my boy?”

Striding forward and ignoring Coran’s question, Keith hit the button that opened up communications with Voltron. “Shiro? Shiro, are you there?”

Only a ringing silence followed.

Coran leaned forward, placing his hands on the glowing dashboard. “Paladins? Allura?”

“Kolivan, have you heard from Voltron?” Keith called through an specific communication channel with the Blade of Marmora.

“Negative.”

Chewing on his bottom lip and growling -- anything to hold of the panic choking him -- Keith slammed his hand against another button calling out to the rebels. “Have you heard from Voltron?”

“Keith?” Matt’s voice rang back through the speakers, echoing through the command center as if to enunciate how empty the space around him felt. “We haven’t heard anything in awhile. Why? Is everything okay?”

“Fuck,” he whispered, staggering back from the command center, finger slipping from the button and disconnecting their communication before Matt could say anything else. “Something’s not right.”

Squeezing his eyes closed, he reached out for Red, desperate to hear that distant purr in the back of his mind, ensuring him that Voltron was alright.

But everything was silent -- so eerily silent like all of the worlds that Keith had lived through without the presences of Red or Jowangshin.

His gaze flicked over the map with all of the Galra ships in the area, information gathered through a tracker that Pidge and Hunk had built while he was in the cryopod. One lone ship had stopped just outside the battle on Naxzela. Out of reach and unmoving.

Like poisoned claws that playfully scratched their way down his ribs, Keith shuttered as dread settled in the lining of his lungs and threatened to suffocate him.

“What’s that ship doing?” Keith jutted his finger through the holoscreen, drawing Coran’s attention from the glowing dashboard.

Coran pulled at the end of his mustache, narrowing his eyes and contemplating the Galra cruiser. “Oh,” he held up a finger, “perhaps they thought it was too well-fortified to attack?”

Shaking his head, Keith curled a fist in the hem of his shirt as if to ward off the bitter anxiety. “No. You know Kolivan and the Blades. ‘Victory or death’ is the Galra way.” His brow furrowed as he gazed over the map once again, lingering on the position of the battlecruiser. “They never stop attacking. And -- and we haven’t heard from Voltron.”

“It must be the magnetic distortion from Naxzela,” Coran observed, tapping against the screen and reading results that flashed in Altean around the swirling orb that was Naxzela.

“No, something’s wrong,” Keith spit, expecting to taste bile on his tongue and the faded memories of blood and ash. “I can’t even feel Red.”

Something was wrong, and there was no way that Keith was going to sit around and wait for another tragedy to happen before his eyes -- bound to this command center to watch everything he cared for disappear before his very eyes. He’d _just_ gotten home.

Ignoring Coran’s call, Keith sprinted down the hallway as anxiety sung in his blood like electricity, each of his nerves a live wire.

He skidded into the podbay, jumping into one of the fighter jets the Blade of Marmora had left behind and flying it out into open space. Without relishing in the joy it was to pilot once again, Keith pushed the fighter jet as fast as possible through space. He narrowly dodged debris as the engine whined in protest at the dangerous speed he was flying. Hunching his shoulders and clutching the controls harder, Keith ignored everything except for the blinking coordinates on his GPS.

He had ignored this clairvoyant anxiety before, back in the beginning during those few days where he didn’t understand what was happening, when he didn’t understand the weight of his fate. And it ended in disaster.

Keith promised himself that he would always trust instincts.

A small buzzing interrupted the downward spiral of his thoughts, and a small indicator light flickered on his dashboard. Clicking the button, Keith shouted, “Shiro?”

“It’s Matt,” the familiar voice sounded tiny through his speakers with the distant sound of explosions and muted talking in the background. “Coran said you were headed towards a Galra battlecruiser by yourself.”

“Something’s not right! We can’t reach Voltron.”

“I agree,” an unknown voice chimed in, possibly the leader of the rebels that Matt was associated with. “Should we fly to Naxzela to check on them?”

“No,” Keith cut them off before they could say anything else, “I need your help.” Gritting his teeth, he wasn’t sure how to phrase his explanation: that the dread curled like flickering flames in his stomach, prophetic anxiety that threatened to implode and swallow him whole. “I can’t explain why, but I know we need to attack that ship.”

The leader’s voice was a little harsher when they spoke next, “I thought the ship had stopped.” The disbelief was thick in their tone, because why should they trust the instincts of a boy who had only been out of a cryopod for a couple hours, a boy they had never met.

Simply a boy. No longer a paladin.

“It has,” Keith growled, desperate to defend the sensation that made his hands clench the controls tighter, forcing the fighter jet faster only to whine in protest. “But I think it has something to do with why Voltron hasn’t been responding!”

“How can --”

Matt cut off the unfamiliar voice of the rebel leader with a simple, “We’re with you, Keith.”

Gritting his teeth and hearing the controls crack under the force of his grip, he responded, “Thank you.”

Like approaching a distant star, the shield surrounding the battlecruiser glowed a neon pink in the surrounding space. It was like a beacon that drew Keith closer, pushing his fighter jet to its limits. The front of the cruiser was extended and the particle barrier that surrounded the ship seemed to be more concentrated on protecting the bow.

“Keith, what are we looking at?” the leader of the rebels asked with a stern voice, demanding an explanation for Keith’s suspicions.

“We haven’t heard from Voltron, and this ship stopped just outside the battlefield,” he could barely understand himself with the deep growl to his voice -- something so instinctively Galra flooded his veins, a bloodlust that desired compensation. “Follow my lead! We need to break through that shield.”

But their fire was like a smattering of rain.

The particle barrier hardly even flinched.

“Attention Voltron Coalition,” Shiro’s voice burst into Keith’s fighter jet and relief overwhelmed him, so visceral that he slumped in his seat. “Naxzela is a bomb! And when it explodes, it’ll take out the entire quadrant if not more.” Shiro’s voice was so tense, twisted into something Keith didn’t recognize. It was like those nights when Keith found Shiro hunched over the kitchen counter, glass crushed in the fingers of his Galra hand and eyes haunted with memories.

“Haggar seems to have activated the Altean terraforming technology on the planet. We need to take her out to stop the detonation,” Allura interrupted with a tremble to her tone.

Keith’s eyes jumped to the battlecruiser before him. The unusual construction. The unusual battle tactics, stopping just before the edge of the fighting. The unusual anger that flickered in his chest like a raging fire.

Gripping the controls of the fighter jet, Keith snapped, “I think we have Haggar right in front of us.”

“Keith?” Lance’s voice was choked through the comms.

“Keith, what are you doing?” Shiro growled, but his harshness definitely stemmed more from concern.

“I knew something wasn’t right, and it turns out that this battlecruiser is probably how Haggar is controlling Naxzela,” he explained, watching as his shots were simply absorbed by the particle barrier only flickering slightly in interruption.

Pidge’s voice was thunder through his mind, “We’ve locked onto your location. We’ll be there soon!” But there was a tremble in her voice that Keith had never heard before -- a fear that they hadn’t faced, not in a single reality: failure that resulted in trillions of lives.

“Good to have Voltron back in the fight!” Matt called with hope so apparent in his voice that Keith cringed, because the shadow of doom chilled his very bones, replacing the marrow with ice and filling his veins with shards of glaciers.

“We don’t have that much time,” Hunk whispered, a confession that Keith and the rebels obviously weren’t supposed to hear.

Lance’s voice burst through the comms over Hunk’s mumbled confession, “Thrusters at max power!”

Keith’s hands clenched around the controls, flying around the particle barrier and shooting with reckless abandon that fluttered with the consuming flames of anxiety devouring his intestines. Snapping his teeth, Keith narrowly dodged another rebel ship as he continued to fire at the impenetrable shields.

“We’re not going to make it!” Lance shouted, but it was like his voice was strangled, a harsh call from the throat that hummed quietly in the night and whispered words in Spanish in silent hallways.

“We’ll make it,” Shiro declared through gritted teeth, but there was something in Shiro’s voice that made Keith grip the controls with white-knuckled force, a doubt Keith was so unfamiliar with.

With a growling shout, Keith pulled back, hovering in the space just beyond the flurry of bullets that disappeared into the glowing hue of the shield. His fingers still squeezed the triggers as if his hands had frozen in position and refused to relax until the dread had settled to a simmer along his sternum.

“Keith,” Lance’s voice cut through the swarm of dread that buzzed in his mind, “I need to tell you something. Just in case.”

“No,” Keith breathed, squeezing his eyes closed, determined to find a solution in this universe just like he had done in all the rest. “We aren’t doing this. Nothing is going to happen to you, Lance.”

How many universes had he traveled to in order to save Lance? And yet in his own, Keith couldn’t even deactivate a shield and stop a bomb from going off and killing trillions.

“I promised that I would protect you!” Keith declared, grinding his teeth and fighting the desperation that brought tears to his eyes.

He swerved around a rebel ship only to fly the left wing of his fighter into a shot from the battlecruiser’s automated defense system. The fighter jet shuttered around him, groaning with resistance and threatening to be torn apart by the sheer power of the attack. With a grunt, Keith yanked the ship to the side, clenching the controls tighter as his palms were slick with sweat.

Each inhale was a whistled breath as perspiration dotted his forehead and back. A hand had wrapped around his heart, squeezing it between bitter fingers and digging its fingernails into the tender muscle.

“We’ll never penetrate those shields!” Matt screamed through the flickering video feed upon his dashboard.

His hands fell from the controls, landing in his lap with sweaty palms pressing to the knees of his jeans.

Was this why he was brought back? Were the last months only to demonstrate how expendiable he was, how easily his life could be given for the greater good?

What was one life for the sake of trillions?

What was one life for the sake of his teammates? His family? His friends? His love?

“Maybe not with our weapons,” Keith breathed, canceling the video feed with Matt and gripping the controls with the kind of determination he’d only had a few times before:

The day when he’d jumped from the airlock, so desperate for any kind of solution, desperate enough to take his own life. Those days where he’d killed his friends to save them from suffering at the hands of the undead, the passage of time blending together into a splotch of blood in his memories. The day where he’d placed the muzzle of the shotgun between his teeth and given his teammates precious minutes to escape the horde of zombies -- and how he prayed that they’d gotten away, been saved as he covered the taste of Lance’s flesh with ash. The day where he’d felt the harpoon pierce his chest or when he jumped in front of Lance as a vampire threatened to rip him limb from limb.

“Wait, Keith. What are you doing?!” Matt’s voice was like a distant buzz in the cockpit, muted through the staticy communicator.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t given his life before. It wasn’t like he hadn’t given his sanity and abandoned his morals -- such pitiful and desperate things he clung to in the twisting cycle of time -- for the sake of saving Lance.

For the team, for the only family he’d ever known, the bright beacon against the faded memories of his father and the obvious distaste of his aunt; what would he sacrifice for them?

“Keith,” Lance’s voice was a murmur, a faint afterthought that cooed at the back of his mind like Red’s muted purr.

Pulling the ship around, he gripped the controls with steady hands as he aimed the nose of the fighter jet at the origin of the particle barrier. “Keith!” Lance’s yell escalated in volume until it was a shrill buzz through the communicator and saturated the cockpit of the fighter jet in bittersweet memories.

“Keith, what’re you doing?” Shiro’s voice was a whisper of horror, of disbelief. “Stop! Stop! We’ll make it on time! Stop it, Keith!” The panic was palpable on his tongue before Keith flipped a switch to silence all communication between him and the paladins. Because they didn’t need to know all of the horrific memories that painted his dreams and turned his consciousness to rolling fog.

They didn’t need to know how familiar he was with sacrificing himself.

The glowing pink hue of the shield colored his cheeks, tinting the darkness behind his eyelids as he squeezed them closed.

For the team, he would give everything -- because what was dying one more time?

At least this one would quick. ( _better than in a plume of flames. better than writhing in vomit and spittle as poison stole the oxygen from his lungs. better than falling prey to snapping teeth and salivating lips. better than suffocating on the ship’s deck as sailors laughed and poked at his chilling body. better than at the teeth of a werewolf, lying in the tall grass as the life drained from his body like viscous blood. better than being a spirit bound to nothing but his old house with nothing other than Lance for entertainment. better than in the cold vacuum of space. better than everything he’d endured._ )

A flicker of bright light made him peek his eyes open, expecting to catch a glimpse of the flickering particle barrier.

Instead, an explosion covered his vision, shattering of the shield and consuming the cruiser in a torrent of flames. Yanking on the controls, Keith pulled back, dodging the majority of the explosion with shaking hands and shock stealing the breath from his lungs.

Once he was far beyond the debris of the Galra battlecruiser, his hands fell from the controls without his consent, landing limply in his lap and trembling from the high of adrenaline -- the high he was currently crashing from like a wave upon the sand.

Naxzela was no longer a threat. The battle was won.

And what had Keith done?

Absolutely nothing.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Keith’s lip trembled as his throat convulsed around words that wouldn’t leave his throat. He opened his comms once again, ready to hear Shiro’s reprimand, but an unfamiliar voice burst through.

“Attention, paladins of Voltron and rebel fighters,” a regal voice purred through a newly-broadcasted communication, “I am Prince Lotor, and although we’ve had our differences in the past, I believe it is time for us to have a discussion.”

  


**~~~~**

  


Keith slowly directed the small Blade of Marmora fighter jet back into the pod hangar, hands still twitching around the controls. His shirt clung to his back as the sweat cooled along his spine, chilling him into a numbing coldness. His eyes felt stretched wide as if attempting to absorb all the stimulus in his field of view, determined to keep him safe while his body shuttered to a stop.

Curling into himself, Keith threaded trembling hands into his hair and muffled a scream into his knees.

His eyes were still pried open even as his vision blurred; tears trailed down his cheeks and dripped off his chin onto his pants. With steadying breaths, Keith struggled to stop the shaking of his fingertips, nails slowly curling into his scalp as if desperate for any kind of grounding sensation, even if it was pain.

Each exhale was a shudder, like a wheezing sob had been squeezed from the small breaths he managed to inhale.

It was like everything was crumbling around him -- all those walls he’d built to defend himself, strengthened with each terror he witnessed, because there had to be some godforsaken reason for it all. And there was a reason, because he’d saved Lance, he’d saved his found family, and sometimes he’d even saved the world.

But here he was, brought back to his own reality with no such purpose.

Lotor had flown into the battle, brandishing a ship scavenged from Voltron. A prince of the enemy had flown into the battle and saved a quarter of the known universe. A threat had waltzed into their lives for no other reason than a bargaining chip.

And yet Keith had spent days, weeks, months protecting these people and this purpose that he’d wound around his heart with bloodied string, the purpose that allowed him to drag himself from bed in each world, the purpose that gave him hope to face the next atrocity, that purpose had been snatched by a silver-tongued prince.

His scream stuck in his throat, catching on the constricting tears that threatened to ravage his fragile composure and commandeer his mind.

A loud knock on the outside of the fighter jet tore him from his thoughts. His fingers caught on the knots in his hair. With eyes still wide and almost unseeing, he caught sight of Lance standing at the door of the ship with rage carved deep into the lines of his face.

The rest of the team was stumbling through the hangar door behind him, in various states of disbelief.

“Keith, get the fuck out of there!” Lance’s voice was a growl, bellowing through the room with the force of the ocean.

Rather than lingering on Lance, Keith’s gaze fell over each of his teammates. He analyzed the emotions flitting across their features in the way he’d been drawn to do in each universe, enjoying pointing out all the differences he could find between the ones before him and his memories.

Allura’s features were pinched in clear disapproval, rage so clearly masked behind a subtle frown. Whereas Hunk couldn’t disguise any of the emotions that played across his features like sunlight filtering through the waves. His brows were settled low and the muscles in his jaw seemed to jump in an unsteady rhythm as if he mitigated the urge to scream.

Keith almost couldn’t look at Pige, tears so clearly glistening on her cheeks -- nothing like the Pidge that had searched for the yellowing of his sclera over a crackling fire.

And Shiro -- Shiro looked unsteady on his feet like he still couldn’t believe what almost happened. His jaw was slack and his fingers twitched against Allura shoulder, appearing like the only thing that was holding him up.

The pounding sounded again, frantic and forceful. “Keith!” Lance’s voice was an animalistic growl, familiar to the sound of his werewolf howl and bloodthirsty snarl. “Don’t make me fucking ask again, because I will get Red to tear the doors off this goddamn spaceship and drag you out.”

A soft purr sounded in the back of his mind as if in support of whatever threats Lance was spitting.

And Keith finally let his gaze settle on Lance’s features. His chin trembled as his breath caught in his chest; the expression on Lance’s face was something he’d never seen, but it was so familiar. It held this kind of fear that Lance had when Keith placed the barrel of the gun between his lips or when he met Lance’s gaze through the colored glass of the airlock. But there was anger, a defiance that was so similar to the way Lance had looked at him when he was Enthralled. And he could only hope that there was some love buried beneath those writhing emotions.

But how was it that everyone seemed so unfamiliar in this world that was his own: all of their tones and twisted expressions so different from the ones of his memories? How could he return to such an unrecognizable family?

Rather than attempt to bear his weight on his shaking legs, Keith leaned over the dashboard, hunching his back and projecting his voice outside the fighter jet. “I’m sorry,” he choked, pulling his finger from the button so the team wouldn’t hear him struggle for air as sobs attempted to strangle him again.

“Sorry?!” Lance barked, fists clenching at his sides as he pounded on the door again as if enunciating every word. “ _Sorry_?! We just got you back, asshole! And you got out and you do -- _this_!”

Keith averted his gaze, curling over his legs and finally squeezing his eyes closed. But just beyond the blackness behind his eyelids was a glowing pink, a flood of memories that seemed to play all of his mistakes with vigor -- all tinted the shade of the particle barrier.

And his breath stilled in his chest.

The cockpit was too small, confining and tightening around him. Oxygen went stale in his lungs, and his lips fluttered rather than drawing in fresh air. Because he’d almost died here -- attempted to fly into a particle barrier like all he wanted was for that twisted, fucked-up cycle to continue. Like he had prayed to Jowangshin to bind him to more fates and spend the rest of his days setting the worlds right.

He couldn’t stay here, couldn’t stay where he’d just try to throw everything away.

Stumbling out of the seat, his hands scratched over every surface that could hold his weight. He tumbled out of the fighter jet and directly into Lance’s arms. The blue paladin tensed against Keith’s sudden touch, but he didn’t care, throwing his arms around Lance’s neck and burying his face against the paladin armor.

Each sob seemed to fracture him, shatter him into tiny unmendable pieces.

“I-I thought that I was supposed to. Jowangshin said -- she said that this was my purpose. Destiny and -- and how was I supposed to know it was all over? I’d already done this before, so -- so what was one more time?!” Each word seemed to curl his body closer into Lance’s broad chest and lithe arms that gently wound around him.

His hands scratched against Lance’s armor, so desperate for the barrier between them to disappear, to allow himself to fall completely for the blue paladin, that amazing boy from Cuba. To fall and know someone would catch him.

“I just wanted t-to protect you,” he mumbled, squeezing his eyes closed and fighting the darkness of his mind and the spiral of memories that threatened to capsize his consciousness. “Is that so wrong?”

“Keith,” Lance said in the brief inhale between Keith’s sobs, a loud voice in the momentary quiet. “We would never want you to sacrifice yourself to save us. You’re an important member of this team.” Lance’s hands tightened around Keith, pulling him closer to his chest as if to stop Keith from peering up at his expression, to understand why his voice was so thick and constricted.

Keith's chest shuddered with an exhale, tears clogging the back of his throat and sticking strands of his hair to his cheeks. Shaking his head, his fingers curled into fists against the breastplate of Lance’s armor, so cold and unforgiving against his skin.

“N-no, I’m supposed to --”

“The castle was so lonely without you, man,” Lance cut him off as if not allowing Keith to give birth to such toxic statements, the purpose Keith had surrounded himself with to block out the terror of his destiny. “I mean, we could barely look at each other for awhile unless we went to the kitchen for a late night snack and ran into each other. And now, I’ve seen Shiro shirtless too many times that it can’t be good for my heart.”

Keith couldn’t fight the small chuckle that bubbled in his throat.

One of Lance’s hands, an intimate weight and heat, left his lower back only to grab hold of his clenched fist. With those familiar lithe fingers, Lance slowly peeled each of Keith’s fingers from the fist and placed the relaxed palm against his chest again. While he talked, he did the same with the other hand, slowly bringing Keith to a place of calm.

“I didn’t want to tell you this, but I now understand why you would go to the training room so often. Nothing is more satisfying than beating the smirk off that gladiator’s smug face,” Lance mumbled, lips somehow close to Keith’s ear, puffing warm breath along his neck with each word.

“Even at four in the morning?” Hunk questioned with a soft voice, stepping closer to them and smiling.

Keith felt Lance shrug under his hands. “Well, I had to do something about Shiro’s and my unresolved sexual tension.”

Keith snorted a soft laugh at Lance’s joke before glancing through his bangs at Hunk. The yellow paladin stood with his hands positioned on his hips and a confident grin on his features. It was so similar to the way he had handled an axe -- the confidence stemming from battles and experiences and a hardening of one’s heart.

And like a long faded memory, so clear in its heartache, _“Lance wouldn’t have had to sacrifice if you weren’t just as bloodthirsty as all the other Galra.”_

Turning his head back into Lance’s chest, Keith struggled to bring stability back to his knees, to steady himself enough that he could walk away and let him shatter to pieces without company. Without the eyes of the people who could read him best, those that could pick apart and see everything that he’d done, all he had sacrificed and all the atrocities that he’d committed.

But rather than that, he let himself lean into Lance’s touch and be comforted by the presence of another.

“Even the space mice missed you, Keith,” Lance commented, gently drawing Keith out of his thoughts and back into the conversation that had been continuing in his mental absence. “They created an hour long show with three musical numbers for all of us.”

“It is rather beautiful. I am most certain that they would love to show it to you,” Allura commented for the first time, and Keith couldn’t fight the urge to meet her gaze. Glancing from underneath his lashes, he noticed the fragility to Allura’s stance, the way she seemed to balance herself against Pidge. It seemed like time had aged her without altering her appearance at all, like the weight of the universe had forced itself upon her shoulders.

And like a moth to flame, Keith’s eyes fell upon Shiro. His heart stuttered in his chest to see the expression on his best friend’s face. It looked like those fragile mornings they unofficially agreed to never mention: the days where Shiro’s PTSD flared up and Keith was too restless to sleep, accidentally meeting in the kitchen with puffy eyes and twitching fingers. It was that same haunted look that crossed Shiro’s features now, turning the relieved smile Keith saw earlier into something shadowed.

Keith was the one that cast that shadow over everyone, and he felt the urge to defend himself.

“Oh, and Pidge built this --”

“Shiro,” Keith interrupted Lance, finallying pulling from those arms that seemed to banish the memories to the depths of his mind. “I-I don’t,” he stuttered, cutting himself off by pulling his lip between his teeth and clenching his fists at his hips.

With stumbling steps, he marched forward to gaze up at Shiro’s hardened expression. His best friend stood tall and stared down at him with watery eyes, all mentor with hardened compassion.

“How could you?” Shiro’s voice was a whispered growl, eyebrows set low and shading those gunmetal eyes.

“I --”

“You just came back,” Shiro breathed while his gaze darted to the ceiling, chin tipping back as if he was fighting the tears that stuck in his throat. His hands were trembling by his sides, and Keith didn’t fight the urge to reach out and grab one. With his eyes fixated on the palm of Shiro’s human hand, he pulled each finger from the crescent indents his nails had made in his flesh -- just like Lance had done for him.

He could still feel the lingering heat of Lance’s arms and the gentleness that had relaxed his hands and kept him from shaking apart at the seams.

“I know.”

“You just came back,” Shiro repeated with more indignation, brow furrowing and lips tilting into a distinctive frown.

Nodding slightly, Keith exhaled a gentle, “I know.”

“You just came back!” Shiro shouted, pulling his hand from Keith’s grasp and gripping both Keith’s shoulders. Each finger tightened into the deteriorated muscle with bruising force as if Shiro was struggling to keep them both from collapsing. Shaking him slightly, Shiro’s eyes almost seemed crazed, like this lack of sleep had driven him into the depths of his trauma ( _like he had been the only one who lost someone, who was waiting and struggling just to continue on_ ). “And you go and do something like -- like _that_.”

And Keith couldn’t explain. “I’m sorry,” was the best he could do, and seeing the affronted expression on Shiro’s face, it wasn’t enough.

But that didn’t stop Shiro from drawing Keith into a bone crushing hug, and Keith allowed himself to fall into that familiar comfort. It was almost like the night he curled up with Shiro on a bed made of coral and let his mind rest for the first time in weeks.

“I’m sorry,” Keith repeated, voice catching on the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes once again. “I’m sorry.”

No one told him that it was okay, because they all knew it wasn’t.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be perfectly honest, I started this fic between season 2 and 3, and when I watched season 4 and I was like "this is the perfect way to end it: Keith will literally crash into the particle barrier and die!" ~~I'm so sorry, I have no idea what angst high I was riding~~ , but then all of my friends rightfully yelled at me and put me back on the right track haha remember I promised #AngstWithAHappyEnding haha
> 
> Another side note, I forgot to ask this on chapter 52, but what was everyone's favorite mini-AU or your favorite AU in general! I'm super curious to know, because I have my favorites too haha
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and leaving me kudos and wonderful comments!! (ps, I'm sorry for the delays in answering, they all mean so much to me and I will answer you all now (°◡°♡))
> 
> P.S. I'm not positive how fast the next chapter will come especially due to the length and the little amount of material I have written or that needs major editing. I will keep you all updated, but my updated schedule may switch to every two/three weeks or so. I'm so sorry and thank you all for sticking with me (≧◡≦) ♡


	55. Far Beyond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, I'm so sorry for the major delay in posting. I was really really struggling with this chapter, but I hope you like it! ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊˚

Shiro’s firm grasp guided Keith to the lounge, fingertips pulling at the hem of Keith’s shirt and jacket as if to keep him from running off. But Keith’s knees were too weak, eyes too puffy, and breath too jagged to even think about escaping to the confines of his own room. He was also worried about what kind of memories would greet him in the silent gasp before slumber.

So Keith let Shiro lead him to the couch and sit beside him, thighs touching and one arm thrown over his shoulder. It was a casual kind intimacy that Keith rarely experienced with Shiro, but there was a tension in Shiro’s grasp and in the furrow of his brow that longed to ask questions. Instead, Shiro ground his teeth as if chewing on the things he couldn’t say.

The doors to the lounge hissed open, unexpectedly loud in the silence between Keith and Shiro. Hunk strode in with a cup of steaming actual coffee and a placating smile -- something more harrowed than the warm grin Keith remembered.

Keith suppressed a hysterical chuckle, so familiar with Hunk’s nurturing kindness, the companionship that protected him with large hands and swinging axes. The gesture was something so delicate, an offer so small and inconsequential compared to the decisions Keith was accustomed to making. Even though Keith’s throat felt tight with swallowed tears and his stomach roiled with nausea, he wanted to accept the drink nonetheless.

“It’s decaf, but better than nothing right?” Hunk’s hand enveloped Keith’s while pressing the cup into his palm as it to ensure his grip was steady before plopping on the other side of the semi-circular couch. Keith was unsure if the coffee was more for Hunk, calming the urge to do anything to fill the capsizing hole in all of them, or if it was for Keith, to calm and comfort him in the wake of the battle. Either way, he was grateful.

“Thanks,” Keith breathed, unable to meet Hunk’s gaze as a suffocating feeling of shame washed over him.

Before he could even attempt to trace back the feeling that threatened to send him spiraling into panic, the doors hissed open. Glancing up, Keith caught Hunk’s tepid smile, so welcoming that Keith’s heart surged with undefinable loss -- like he had lost something he couldn’t even identify.

Hunk’s eyes had drifted to the door at the sound of it opening, and without conscious thought, Keith followed Hunk’s gaze.

Lance strode into the room, two hands crossed behind his head as if pretending to be casual about the whole incident. Dropping over the side of the couch, Lance flopped on one of the seats and propped up his leg; the blue paladin looked perfectly comfortable, but there was a haunted quality to his eyes; a look Keith hadn’t seen since he was trapped in a world with the walking dead.

Pidge, Allura, and Coran walked in after Lance, gathering around the lounge as if they were just trying to be close to Keith -- as if they were all living with the same fear as him: that this reality would disappear if they closed their eyes for too long.

Their gazes shifted to him, heavy and questioning.

The air grew stale as the silence stretched between them. It was as if no one knew exactly what to say: Shiro still thinking over his words and multitude of questions, Pidge wondering how to soften the edges to her blunt investigation, or Lance more apt to observe first and inquire later. A chasm had opened between them in the months that Keith was bound to the cryopod, and no one knew how to bridge it.

He tapped his fingers against the mug, grateful to have something to occupy his hands.

Taking a tentative sip, Keith couldn’t fight the way his mind drifted back to the coffee Lance had handed him as the smell of char and ash settled in Keith’s lungs. Their fingertips had brushed, and Lance had been such a bashful version of himself, not full of the confident air he normally wore around them. It was such a genuine and innocent side that Keith met on that beautiful day in the coffee shop, sitting among the tables until twilight colored Lance’s cheeks a rosy tint.

At the thought, a distant blush rose in Keith’s cheeks as he savoured the bitter flavor of Hunk’s coffee.

And as if nothing had happened in the months Keith had been caught in the twist of time, Lance shrugged his shoulders and pulled an upbeat conversation out of thin air, “So I bet Allura didn’t tell you how she ghosted the Blade of Marmora.”

But no matter how casual Lance acted, Keith could still hear the feral undertone ringing beneath his normally casual voice.

“Lance,” Allura frowned as a blush donned her cheeks, turning her Altean marks a slightly darker shade of pink. “I hardly think that’s appropriate to --”

“It was totally justified,” Lance flicked his wrist and shrugged; it was such a casual action, but Keith caught the calculating edge of it. The relaxed nature to Lance’s lips and the jovial grin were all fabricated to cast an aura of comfort around the room, and Keith couldn’t stop himself from falling into the depth of it. “I mean, Kolivan really didn’t present his case very well--”

“Not that it matters much anymore,” Hunk grumbled, alluding to something that Keith didn’t understand, and the loss of time between them seemed to swallow him whole.

Lance rolled his eyes and ignored Hunk’s comment as he continued, controlling the mood of the entire room with his amicable story-telling, “Well, innocent until proven guilty isn’t really a thing in space. Especially when it involves a race for the throne of a galactic empire.” Leaning forward towards the center of the semi-circular couch, Lance smiled conspiratorially. “But, I would have paid money to see Kolivan’s face when Allura hung up on him.”

Allura groaned, shaking her head as Lance laughed under his breath, a soft fragile thing like the smoke that curls between your lips on a cold winter day. Soon, small chuckles were pulled from everyone’s chest, and the atmosphere turned a shade closer to rose. It was like Lance could call their happiness with a quick smile and funny story, like this was all as easy as controlling the ocean with his fingertips had been.

“To be a fly on a wall,” Hunk snickered.

“Yeah!” Pidge chimed in with a chuckle. “Then because we wouldn’t answer, Kolivan actually sent someone here. They were literally about to fly into the castle if we didn’t open the hangar.”

The last words seemed to catch in Pidge’s throat, a realization donning. Shiro’s arm tensed around Keith’s shoulders. Their heavy gazes became even more weighted against him.

He just took a sip of the coffee if only to hide behind the small mug, pretending he didn’t still feel the indent of the controls in his palms or the way sweat had dried along his back.

“At least it kept that prick Lotor off the throne,” Lance mumbled, crossing his arms and meeting Allura with a reassuring smile. The comment served to both break the mounting tension and to reassure Allura.

Allura huffed a chuckle, shaking her head softly before her earrings glowed and the castle pinged with an alert. Standing up, she dusted off her paladin uniform as if it were her royal dress.

“It’s a hailing frequency,” Coran observed, jumping upright and rushing out the door.

“It must be Prince Lotor in regards to his,” Allura swallowed harshly, face pinching in a familiar tightness, “ _discussion_. Excuse me, paladins.” She strode to the door, following Coran’s heavy footsteps, but before she walked through the threshold, she turned to face Keith. “Oh, and Keith. We’re glad you’re back.”

Lance’s eyes followed Allura and Coran out of the lounge before they drifted to Keith, and Keith couldn’t stop the way his heart faltered when meeting those ocean eyes.

“He’s a prick if you hadn’t guessed, Keith.” Lance smiled, fingers tapping along his thighs as if searching for the hem of his jacket to weather. But they were all still in their paladin uniforms from the battle; Keith didn’t even know where his was.

Smiling softly, Keith curled his hands tighter around the cup of coffee, fighting the swarm of panic that fluttered in his lungs. He could feel the shape of the fighter jet’s controls in his palms, hear the distant purr of the Prince’s voice, and feel the weightlessness of losing his purpose.

Gritting his teeth, Keith forced himself to focus on his friends before him, the family he had protected in every reality -- even if it was by the swing of his crowbar.

  


**~~~~**

  


Conversation flowed easily after that, all lightness and shallow topics. It was clear that the battle was weighing on everyone’s minds, but Keith let himself get lost in the soft banter and familiar smiles.

After a couple hours that felt like a blissful exhale, Shiro was sagging against the couch, lips parted and faint snores sounding with each breath. His arm was still fixated around Keith like even in his sleep he was worried about Keith disappearing. Again.

Keith played with the empty mug in his hands, grateful for something to keep them occupied. Pidge yawned, slumping against Hunk and stretching her legs out until they tangled with Lance’s. Lance was lounging with the ends of his hair a mused mess that made Keith think of waking the Altean Prince in the morning, all white hair and flushed cheeks.

Hunk stretched as he stood up, jostling Pidge’s perch on his arm.

“What?” She mumbled, glasses falling down her nose before she could push them up. “Time for bed?”

Chuckling Hunk nodded, volunteering to carry her much to her chagrin. With a grumble, she pried herself from the couch and rubbed at her eyes with her palms. Mumbling a good night, both Hunk and Pidge left.

Keith pried himself from Shiro’s grasp, debating on leaving his jacket on the couch for the black paladin to hold, fingers still curling into the fabric. Lance walked over, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Think we should wake him up?” Lance whispered.

“Nah, he needs all the sleep he can get.”

Shrugging off his jacket, Keith draped the free end across Shiro’s lap.

Rolling out his neck, haunted by a familiar ache, Keith walked alongside Lance down the familiar hallways. The only sound that surrounded them was their soft footsteps, but Keith didn’t break the silence, enjoying the quiet company.

All too soon, they reached Keith’s bedroom, Lance the next door down. Keith was unsure of how to say goodnight when pleas were building in his throat. He had forgotten the dread that awaited him in the moments before sleep, the threats of what greeted him when he closed his eyes -- would he be plagued by memories or wake to another world with this as just a dream from another realm?

He wanted to burn whatever was left of his dignity and ask to sleep beside Lance, to make him promise that there would be a tomorrow filled with hope rather than dread. Wanted to twist his hands into that threadbear jacket and drown in the soft scents of vanilla and cedar.

But he swallowed those desperate thoughts and waved a goodbye.

Lance nodded, crossing his arms and turning his back on Keith.

Keith’s lips parted; there was still time to call Lance back.

But Keith felt his shoulders hunch, fingers trembling as they pressed against the hand scanner. He fixed his gaze on his hand, waiting for the soft sound of Lance’s door closing so that he would have no other option or than entering his hollow room.

“Keith,” Lance said softly, disturbing the mounting silence between them. Glancing up, Keith met Lance’s gaze. “Who’s Jowangshin?”

His blood turned to ice, fragmented and sunk shards into his lungs with each stolen breath. The name sounded so strange on this Lance’s lips, accented and garbled and so completely different from the Lance that had flooded his thoughts with water and turned to ash in Keith’s grasp.

“What?” Keith choked out, aware of how his voice shook and his fingertips sparked with memories. Unconsciously, he tucked them into his pants pockets as if to hide the way they sought ignition.

“You mentioned them when you --”

“I don’t know who Jowangshin is.” Keith began, stealing himself with the same determination that had brought him through worlds of torment and loss. Because how was this Lance, the one that still wondered if they were even friends, going to take the news of Keith’s sacrifice -- how would he perceive Keith’s actions? All the horrors and atrocities he commited danced alongside the heroic acts.

And if Keith began speaking, how would he stop himself before he revealed the lingering hunger than lined his stomach.

Lance’s shoulders slumped. “Oh.”

“Sorry. Must have been from a crazy cryopod dream or something,” Keith mumbled as if he didn’t remember the cadence of Jowangshin’s voice in his mind or the tickling flames of her laughter in his stomach. As if he didn’t remember her granting him the power of a thousand suns at the snap of his fingers. As if he didn’t remember her.

Something flickered over Lance’s features so fast that Keith couldn’t place it.

“Yeah, some crazy dream,” Lance mumbled scratching at the back of his neck before turning to walk towards his own room. “Let me know if you have any more, okay?” He spoke without turning around, but Keith caught the barest flash of Lance’s gaze before the blue paladin disappeared into his bedroom.

Keith shrugged off his jacket and bundled himself in the Altean pajamas he’d once refused to wear. Sinking into his soft sheets, he inhaled the fading scent of vanilla and let himself bask in the warmth.

Squeezing his eyes closed, he fought to steady his breaths and swallowed the panic that hummed in his veins like an echo of habit. He prayed -- to Jowangshin, to Red, to the universe that tied him to Lance -- that there wouldn’t be any crazy dreams, that he could sleep peacefully at least for one night.

But there was no goddess in this reality to grant his wishes.

  


**~~~~**

  


After Naxzela, they all seemed to watch Keith more closely -- and not in the way that was relishing in his presence. He knew the difference. He had experienced the same thing in the fog of his first days, trapped in this castle for a single fraction of time. There was a distinct difference between lingering by a person’s side and watching them for signs of deteriorating mental health.

Shiro had woken him every morning, smiling brightly to cover up the darkening circles under his eyes and the way his gaze stalled on Keith. They would walk side by side to breakfast while making casual conversation over the faded sound of their slippered footsteps.

And when Shiro left, it would be Pidge or Hunk or Allura that would “conveniently” have something for Keith to help with. Rarely did Lance approach him.

It was clear exactly what all this was all a consequence of Naxzela and his sacrifice attempt. Not that he desired alone time when memories whispered at the corners of his mind -- he just caught the way their expressions shifted into something examining when they thought he wasn’t looking.

It had only been three days since he’d woken from the cryopod.

And each day, the relief that kept the memories at bay diminished.

His nails were bitten to the quick, jagged and sometimes caked with clotted blood that settled into his nail beds. Rather than cutting his longer hair that tickled his collarbones, Keith pulled it up into a ponytail and remembered the way Jowangshin’s Lance had called him “ponytail” as a nickname. It brought a small grin to his face even in the midst of other memories.

Every day, he couldn’t fight the smile that pulled at his lips when he realized it was another day.

And every night, he woke with a scream burning on his tongue, caught in his throat and heavy in his mouth. The weight of it seemed to pull him from the dreams he couldn’t distinguish from memory. Staggering out of bed, Keith washed the cool sweat that clung to his skin in the communal shower.

Even the fading scent of vanilla and cedar on his sheets couldn’t help lull him back to sleep.

On the morning of the fourth day, just before the dawn simulator started in the castle, Keith sat up in bed, arms outstretched and drowning in the memory of flesh grinding between his teeth and blood saturating his taste buds. His shirt was damp with sweat and his bangs clung to his forehead. Huffing a frustrated sigh, Keith wiped a trembling hand down his face and pulled himself from bed.

He was grateful that no one else on the team was awake to see the way his sanity splintered every night.

Standing under the gentle spray of the shower, Keith dragged his hands through his hair and hung them around his neck, strangely desperate to feel the fluctuation of paper-thin gills at his neck. Squeezing his eyes closed, he could remember the freedom of swimming through ocean and allowing himself to be dragged by the warm currents. And the second his mind drifted to those seafoam fins and the gouged flesh that lay underneath, he scrubbed at his scalp with shampoo and brought his thoughts to something safer.

Safer: like his time at the Garrison or those first few days forming Voltron, filled so brightly with warmth and laughter. Safer: like flirting with Lance over a cooling cup of coffee and the smell of extinguished smoke. Safer: like washing in the river and the accidental, heated press of Lance’s body against his.

Grinding his teeth, Keith hunched his shoulders, ducking his head under the water and watching the way shampoo bubbled around the drain in a range of alien hues.

A soft hum echoed in the shower room.

“Morning,” Lance’s voice called, jovial and unexpected at this early morning hour as Lance was a notorious night owl, determined to call his sleeping in ‘beauty sleep.’

There was a long pause where Lance obviously expected him to answer, but Keith couldn’t fight the tension of his jaw enough to respond without sounding like he was drowning.

“Hunk? Shiro?” Lance asked, stepping forward with plodding steps. “Keith?”

His name on Lance’s lips was addictive.

“Y-yeah,” he mumbled between clenched teeth and muscles that refused to relax, even under the steaming water.

A soft knock sounded outside the thin curtain of his shower stall, followed by Lance’s gentle voice, “You okay in there?”

“Yeah,” Keith answered more confidently, forcing his muscles to relax and one again scrubbing at his scalp as if that could bleach the memories from his mind. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.”

Lance grunted in response, stepping into the stall next to him with a mumbled, “Oh, I totally get that. I keep waking up, because --” but Lance cut himself off with a sharp cough. The shower next to Keith switched on, and the sound of the pattering water washed away the end of Lance’s sentence.

Keith was able to untangle one hand from his hair, breath coming a little easier, as he reached for the body wash. How unfortunate that Lance’s presence brought him such comfort while teasing the edges of his mind with memories.

“No crazy dreams right?” Lance asked, voice muffled by the shower.

Keith’s exhale sounded more like a caustic chuckle as he answered, “Nah. Just felt like I’ve slept long enough.”

Lance hummed in response, but that was clearly the end of their small exchange, separated by a wall of plastic and a million miles.

The silence between them grew tense as Keith dragged the soap over his figure, fingers lingering in the dip of his ribs and the jut of his hip bone. He looked frail, thin to the point of worry, like all of his muscles had atrophied in that cryopod and there was nothing left of him but skin and bones.

“Do you maybe want to train sometime?” Keith mumbled under the sound of pattering water, but somehow Lance heard him.

“Sure! But I’ll warn you, while you’ve been resting, I’ve been training.” There was a tone of false bravado in his voice, but Keith ignored it and allowed himself to smile.

“We’ll see about that,” Keith commented, but his hands dug into the slender width of his biceps and longed for strength.

  


**~~~~**

  


Keith had slipped out of the shower before Lance to avoid meeting with the blue paladin while his ribs were visible through his skin.

After slipping into comfortable clothes that seemed to hide the gauntness of his body, Keith tied his hair to the side in a small ponytail. He had grown unaccustomed to feeling the wet hair sticking to the back of his neck when so many of the universes had hair long enough for him to tie back. He draped a towel around his neck, catching the water that dripped off the tips of his hair.

A soft knock on his door sounded while he shoved his feet into his old boots. “Yeah,” he called out, hearing the door hiss open in response.

Shiro stood in the threshold, a little early for his new morning routine. The expression he was wearing made Keith tense. Leaning against the threshold, Shiro crossed his arms and asked, “Can I come in?”

Avoiding his gaze, Keith nodded, tapping the toe of his shoe on the ground to situation his foot correctly.

Shiro stepped into the room and the door hissed behind him, sounding like finality, like Shiro would finally ask all those questions that had played on his features that first night. But Keith knew that something was off by the way that Shiro approached him, tentative and already wearing a placating smile.

Perching on the edge of the bed, Shiro linked his fingers and rested his forearms on his knees. “I’m sure that Lance told you about our communications with Earth,” Shiro began.

Crossing his arms, Keith responded, “Yeah, he said something about it only being ten minutes a day so that Sendak couldn’t locate Earth. And I think Pidge mentioned something about broadcast frequencies. Why?”

If possible, Shiro’s expression looked even more twisted, and that familiar dread curled in Keith’s stomach. He patted the bed next to him, and Keith felt compelled to sit beside his best friend even though every instinct in his body begged to run.

Sighing deeply, Shiro spoke softly, “Your aunt contacted the Garrison about talking to you. And I know how --”

“No.” Keith snapped, fingers tightening against his biceps in a flash of pain. “No way in hell.” The towel around his neck somehow felt stifling and he whipped it off, enjoying the damp splatter it made against the wall.

Shiro brushed his fingers through his hair with an understanding smile playing on his lips. “I thought you would say that.”

“Well, you know what she did,” Keith grumbled, unable to keep the hurt out of his tone.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he couldn’t stop the way his mind berated him for the visceral pain at those faint memories. Hadn’t he lived through more terrors than anyone could imagine? And yet, talking to his aunt made his veins freeze and old wounds reopen.

Shouldn’t he be too old for this? Too old for the sting of abandonment to tear through his lungs like a sandstorm. Shouldn’t the universe have taught him that there are infinitely more important things to lose?

And yet the ache was something old and weathered that grew with every beat of his heart.

“Garrison policy states that --”

“Fuck Garrison policy! I’m over eighteen, and I don’t even go there anymore. They kicked me out, let me wander the desert alone, and _now_ my aunt wants to talk to me?” Keith jumped up from the bed, hands curling into trembling fists at his sides. “Fuck all that shit.”

He clamped his teeth together, silencing the rest of the words, soaked in raw hurt, that threatened to spill from his lips.

Shiro stood, dusting off his knees and placing his warm, human hand on Keith’s shoulder. “You don’t have to talk to her, Keith. I was just going to say that Garrison policy states that she’ll be available tomorrow for those ten minutes if you change your mind.”

Turning away from Shiro’s gaze, Keith nodded stiffly and marched out of his own room.

  


**~~~~**

  


After that short talk with Shiro, Keith struggled to let himself enjoy the rest of the day. He couldn’t relax when Hunk asked him for help in the kitchen; supposedly they needed to use the rest of the fresh fruits before they went bad. Keith kind of suspected that Shiro had told Hunk about his love of strawberry shortcake.

But even that delicious dessert, that tasted of forgotten dreams and simpler times, couldn’t raise his mood.

When he went stomping down the hallways, fingers itching for adrenaline and action, he was stopped by Pidge, and she easily pulled him away from the training room. He grumbled under his breath, because he was being shuffled between people as if they were afraid he would break apart or vanish if they so much as left him alone for five minutes. As much as he loved his friends, being under their constant watch only served to irritation him more.

But he played along, almost relishing in the distractions that forced his mind to the present.

  


**~~~~**

  


That night he dreamed of so much more than haunted memories from his past.

Longing settled in his chest like cement had replaced his ribs.

  


**~~~~**

  


Maybe it was his anger, his indignation at his aunt’s abuse of power and her willingness to waste valuable time for the rest of his friends to talk to their families. He would rather put faces to the names Lance spoke so fondly of than speak to his own relative.

He marched to the bridge just after the broadcast was set to begin.

Pausing outside of the door, he listened to the muffled sound of conversation and inhaled deeply. Rather than allowing himself to linger in the hallway, Keith savored his irritation, distancing himself from the age-old hurt that festered in his lungs.

Opening the door, Keith stepped through the threshold with his hands clenched at his sides.

Shiro stood in the center of the room, chin raised and arms crossed. On the projected holo-screen was his aunt -- more wrinkled and older than Keith remembered. But how reliable was his memory when he only lived with her for six months? She still wore that golden cross necklace, and her hair twisted in a braid over one shoulder.

He could see remnants of his father in her features: the strong jaw and high cheekbones, the fullness of her brows and thinness of her lips, and the severity of her grey gaze.

Her voice was exactly how he remembered it, cold and distant in a throaty alto. At the sound, he could picture her across the table, hands folded and reciting a prayer before every meal. He almost stepped back at how viscerally he remembered her voice and the quiet tone she’d used when telling him about the Garrison.

“I have already spoken with Commander Iverson at how disappointed I am in this institution. I entrust my nephew to you, and--”

Stepping forward and up onto the dias, Keith drew her attention, cutting her off before she could say anything more. He stood tall, cresting just above Shiro’s shoulder, with his features carved from stone.

“Aunt Augusta,” Keith’s voice was a bitten off, bitter thing.

Her smile was warm and fragile, built of pink lipstick and thin lips. “Keith, I’m so glad to--”

“Shiro, can you give us a couple minutes,” Keith asked his best friend, gaze narrowed and shoulders tensed. Shiro looked as if he wanted to say something, but instead he nodded, placing a comforting hand on Keith’s shoulder before leaving him alone on the bridge.

The door hissed shut, and it was just them.

Turning to face his aunt, Keith couldn’t stop the bubble of anger in his stomach that curled so much like tickling flames.

“It’s good to see you again,” she spoke, voice softer than when she’d been addressing Shiro like Keith was still that twelve year old she’d sent away.

Keith crossed his arms, as if to hide himself from the deceiving warmth of her eyes. “We have to make this quick.”

“Yes,” her tone was wistful as if she was mourning their lack of time to speak, “I was told we only have ten minutes.”

Squeezing his eyes closed, Keith sighed and fought the snapping tone that danced on the tip of his tongue. How dare she sound so bereft at a mere ten minutes when she hadn’t contacted him after sending him to the Garrison?

It had been eight years since they’d spoken. Since she’d smiled so sweetly, like saccharine sugar and cotton candy, and ushered him into the Garrison-issued car. Since she’d waved goodbye, grasping at her necklace like God could save her from what she’d done.

He was eighteen when the Garrison kicked him out -- no longer anyone’s problem, not theirs, not hers -- and he wandered the wilderness, more lone wolf than human.

He had spent two years in space and a countless number of months trapped in a spiral of time. And yet, now after all these years alone, she wanted to contact him, to play once again at being family like they had been one all along.

“Don’t ever request to speak to me again,” Keith stated, unable to keep the harshness out of his voice. Keith watched the way her expression fell, the way her full eyebrows lowered in confusion and parted those colored lips. “You’re taking valuable time away from those who actually wish to speak their families.”

Aunt Augusta shook her head as her hand clamped around the cross dangling from her neck. “Keith, I don’t --”

“Sending me away to the Garrison was the best thing you ever did for me.” He ignored the wince of memories that burned at the back of his mind ( _blood and death and the way his hands trembled after he’d taken his first life. all the loss and yet he wouldn’t change it for the world_ ). “I found a family that actually cares about me.”

Tears were bubbling at the corners of her eyes, but Keith couldn’t stop spitting venom. He almost relished in it. Because before now, he had been the one crying -- alone in that small guest room that was more storage space than permanent residence, alone in that Garrison bed longing for his father.

She’d _sent him away_. She had decided that he wasn’t her problem, that some military school would be better for her traumatized nephew than the warmth of her loving embrace. And weren’t catholics supposed to help the sick and weak and lonesome? The fucking irony.

He turned away from her, ready to let the rest of the minutes tick by without him here.

“Keith, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought I was doing what was best for you.” Her voice was a mere tremble, a faltering echo against the metal walls of the castle. “You were so unreachable when you lived with me. I--I didn’t know how to help you.”

Spinning to face her once again, Keith yelled, “How about sending me letters or letting me come back for Christmas like the rest of the recruits, huh? Or how about just loving me?!” He squeezed his eyes closed, listening to the soft reverb of his cracking voice.

“I--I’ve always loved you.”

And Keith pretended he didn’t hear how her voice wavered. He felt so childish like he was showing up on her doorstep all over again, his only personal items in the small suitcase beside him. She had smiled so warmly, patted his head and directed him to the small guest bedroom, not meant for a teenager. Boxes were piled against the wall and her old sewing machine rattled every time he shut the door.

They rarely spoke the entire six months that Keith had lived there. Somehow, he knew better than to unpack his things after Aunt Augusta had asked him if he liked the idea of flying and space and exploration. The Garrison pamphlet constantly sat on the kitchen table, but he never opened it.

Somehow he knew that none of that was permanent.

“Please, lying doesn’t suit a good Christian woman like yourself.” He could taste the derision in his tone, taste the blood from opened wounds. “I have to go, Aunt Augusta.”

He marched towards the door, shoulders tensed and hands trembling in fists, white-knuckles hidden beneath his gloves. Over the soft sound of his footsteps, he heard a small sniffle, a stifled sob. As a final reminder, he snapped, “Don’t contact me again.”

Without turning to face her, he opened the door and felt the soft hiss of air as it closed behind him.

Shiro leaned against the opposite wall of the hallway, chin tucked against his chest and arms crossed. At the sound of Keith’s exit, Shiro glanced up with furrowed brows. “It hasn’t been ten minutes.”

“Yeah, but it felt like an eternity.”

Shiro’s smile was gentle, and Keith could tell he was on the verge of asking questions. Gritting his teeth, Keith said, “If she requests again, refuse her. Garrison policy can kiss my ass.”

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Keith strode down the hallway to the music of Shiro’s soft chuckles. Wandering down the hallways, he allowed his feet to carry him without thought.

He ended up walking to Lance’s room, seeking the comfort he once had wrapped in those sheets. All he wanted was to be comforted, to be rocked to sleep next to Shiro as their fins brushed, to be hugged in those long hallways of the medieval Castle of Lions, to be kissed so softly in the renovated jail cells.

Raising his fist, Keith almost knocked on Lance’s door when he stopped himself. What would he even say? With a harsh sigh, he crossed his arms, pinning them to his chest before they could betray him.

He was about to walk to his own bedroom when Lance’s door opened. Lance stood there, scratching at the back of his neck and wearing a blue, Altean tank top. One of the straps balanced on the edge of his shoulder, drawing a line through his collarbone and to his sternum. Keith couldn’t stop his gaze from following that line before darting up to meet Lance’s eyes. Curls of his tousled hair fell across his forehead as he furrowed his brows.

“You okay, man?” Lance asked with only concern lacing his words.

“Yeah,” Keith breathed, fixing his gaze on Lance’s eyes rather than allowing them to wander across the planes of tanned skin. He wanted to end the explanation there, but the rest just tumbled out as if drawn in by Lance’s gravity. “Just had to talk to my aunt is all.”

Lance crossed his arms and leaned against the threshold of the door, looking perfectly relaxed. “Oh, that sucks. Didn’t you say you didn’t really talk after you went to the Garrison?”

Keith’s heart stopped in his chest, stuttering to a stop before jumping back to work with a frantic pulse. His blood rushed in his ears as he thought back to every single day spent talking in those castle windows. Even though most of those days were foggy, mixing together with the stories Lance spun, he could almost promise that he didn’t mention his aunt on the day he finally saved Lance -- the only day that mattered.

“Yeah,” was all he could mutter without wanting to tell Lance everything that had happened. How all of these venomous emotions bubbled to the surface with the vengeance to kill. But he knew that if he began, he wouldn’t be able to stop without asking if Lance remembered -- if he could truly recall all those lost days?

Clearing this throat, Keith continued, attempting to banish the confusion and tremulous emotions, “Yeah, we didn’t really talk before either.”

There was a stilted moment of silence before Lance spoke again, “Well, next time I talk with my family, you’re more than welcome to join me. Normally it’s just Veronica since she works at the Garrison, but--” Lance shrugged, a sheepish expression on his face that Keith couldn’t place, “--better than nothing right?”

“I--I would really like that,” Keith mumbled before Lance smiled brightly and patted Keith on the back.

Keith didn’t want to hope, but he could have sworn he saw a soft blush dusting Lance’s cheek bones.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I hope you liked this chapter! I honestly still don't really love it, but I knew that if I don't post it I never would. So I hope you enjoyed it!!
> 
> What were your thoughts on Keith's talk with his aunt?! (because I almost cried writing and editing the scene, and it makes my heart hurt haha I've grown soft)
> 
> Thank you all so much for your wonderful comments and kudos and all of your support of this fic!! I love you all and thank you so much for all the inspiration you've given me!! (≧◡≦) ♡ But I wanted to apologize for not answering all of your wonderful comments; I've actually been in a little bit of a writing slump/depressive episode and have been crazy busy with starting a new job. But I wanted to let you all know how wonderful your comments are and how honest to god happy they make me ♡( ◡‿◡ )


	56. Supernova

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!! I'm so sorry that this chapter has taken so long! ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊˚ my goal is to have the next chapter out in about 2~3 weeks or so, but we'll see how that goes haha
> 
> A small warning for this chapter:  
> Keith has a major panic attack this episode, so please be safe! Let me know if a summary in the end notes would be a good idea (ɔˆзˆ)❤

Lance glanced over his shoulder, hands tucked into his pockets and shoulders hunched. And somehow the gesture was so familiar; Lance always ushering Keith forward even without intention. With a raised eyebrow, he said, “You coming, Mullet?”

Keith’s palms were still sweaty, clutched at his sides as if they were still desperate to knock on Lance’s door and beg for comfort. The dryness in his throat ached, and his aunt’s voice echoed in his mind, ringing with nostalgia. But the longer he seemed to look at Lance, the more all of that faded into the background.

“It’s not a mullet,” Keith grumbled as he reached up to touch the edges of his hair, bound in a small ponytail that dipped over his shoulder.

Lance shrugged with a half-hearted smile as he began to walk down the hallway once again.

Keith marched after the Lance so familiar with his silhouette: the birth of his shoulders and the way he always walked with his chin held high. No matter where Lance went, Keith was ready to follow him anywhere, even into the depths of a black hole, even into the depths of a spiral of time once again.

“Anymore,” Keith mumbled under his breath, wondering if Lance would catch it. Longing pulled at his muscles, so desperate for their familial rivalry and bantering -- the kind of distraction that would banish all of Keith’s thoughts so he could focus solely on the way Lance’s brows furrowed with irritation or how his lips curled in a cocky smile when he thought he’d won.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lance waved a hand. “We all know you need a haircut, Kogane.” But there was a playfulness to his voice that made Keith’s blood pressure rise, banishing the last fragments of painful memories from his mind.

Keith couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice as he responded, “Like I’d let anyone on this ship give me a haircut.”

Turning on his heel and pressing a finger into Keith’s chest, Lance continued, “Admittedly, this is definitely better than the mullet.” With that usual cocky grin, Lance grabbed the end of Keith’s ponytail and tugged on it slightly.

Without noticing Keith’s sudden intake of breath or faintness, Lance continued to stride down the hallway. His touched lingered against Keith’s chest, a spot of warmth that spread across his skin and seeped into his muscles.

How was it that when Keith was looking at Lance, all of the atrocities faded away?

“So,” Lance began, cutting of Keith’s quickly falling thoughts, “did Pidge or Hunk recruit you into doing something productive this afternoon? Or are you free?”

Even if he had plans, Keith would have canceled them. This was the first time that Lance was approaching him in this long rotation of chaperones, and Keith wasn’t going to pass it up.

“No, I’ve got a surprisingly free afternoon.”

Lance hummed as if considering his options, like he knew that he could ask for anything -- like he could ask for a star and Keith would fetch it out of the sky for him. “You still up for training?”

Keith wanted to say yes, wanted to have a reason to beat this excess irritation out of his skin, to picture his aunt’s face on the gladiator and watch it scatter into a million pixels. But Keith didn’t want to hurt Lance -- didn’t want to be witnessed as something so feral, something so close to Galra.

His fingers twitched at his sides, almost longing for a crowbar or nails filed to points -- to once again be born as some dangerous thing and excuse his bloodlust.

“Well,” Keith sighed, crossing his arms and tapping his bitten fingernails against his biceps. He was unsure how to calm the irritation bubbling in his blood without dropping into those bloodthirsty desires that thrummed within him.

Lance’s eyes seemed to settle on the thinness of Keith’s arms and the frustrated tremble to his hands. Leaning back on his heels, Lance rolled out his shoulders. “Because Shiro used me as his punching bag yesterday, and I’d prefer not to be yours today.”

Chuckling, Lance tilted his head, waiting for Keith’s answer.

Furrowing his brow, Keith couldn’t seem to remember Shiro and Lance training yesterday. But rather than pondering why Lance would lie to him, Keith took the excuse that Lance had presented -- like he had understood Keith’s silent call for help.

“Then what did you have in mind?” Keith asked, almost cringing at how socially awkward he sounded; it was like the only activity he knew how to do was fight. But in his defense, it wasn’t like he had much downtime these past few months.

Lance’s smile shifted to something mischievous, so bright that Keith felt his footsteps stutter. “Oh,” he purred, “I have the perfect idea.”

  


**~~~~**

  


Keith didn’t want to understand how he had gotten himself into this situation -- didn’t want to acknowledge how malleable he was in Lance’s hands. Before the time loop, when Lance was only a teammate, Keith would’ve easily scoffed off Lance’s suggestion. But today Lance’s eyes practically sparkled like the crystal clear surf of the Caribbean. His smile was wild, almost wind-tousled in their corner of the universe.

And Keith was only a man compared to this celestial body. So, he did all he could to remain aloof as he grumbled an agreement.

“Wait,” Lance paused, propping his hands on his hips and leaning forward so close that Keith caught a whiff of his shampoo. “Are you sure you don’t need Coran to give you a check up?” Raising an eyebrow, Lance titled his head to the side to examine Keith as if all the answers would fall just as easily from his lips.

“I’m not sick just because I want to spend time with you,” Keith huffed, biting at his tongue a second too late.

Flush crept up the back of his neck, settling in his cheeks and burning the tops of his ears. Tilting his chin down, Keith hoped to avoid Lance’s skeptical look.

But Lance didn’t seem to linger on Keith’s minor confession. Instead, Lance’s smile fully transformed into something playfully mischievous as he grabbed at Keith’s hand and pulled him towards the communal bathroom.

And that was how Keith had purple mud smeared across his face while his bangs were pinned back with a headband. He tried not to remember the warm press of Lance’s lithe fingers against his cheeks, so reminiscent of their second kiss -- the first buried with a strong hand, still lingering with the taste of blood.

“And you’re sure this isn’t some interrogation technique for Altean prisoners?” Keith grumbled as his skin tightened under the drying mud.

“Face masks are literally thousands of years old, Keith.” Lance eyed him in the mirror, fingers deftly applying a thin layer of a different colored paste to his skin. “They’re not torture.”

Huffing a sigh, Keith reached up to pick at the cracking mud around his mouth, but Lance’s hand quickly pushed it away, barely having to look away from the mirror.

“This is supposed to be calming, Keith.” Lance turned around, propping his clean hand against his hip while the other smeared the last of the paste onto his cheekbone.

“I’m calm,” Keith grumbled, but he could feel the tension in his shoulders and the stiffness to his jaw. He was wound so tight that his muscles were bound to snap. Crossing his arms, Keith dug his bitten fingernails into his biceps while ignoring the spark of pain that thrummed in his fingertips.

His anxiety had reached a breaking point. Whatever relief had kept the memories at bay for these past three days had dwindled. He could barely close his eyes at night, too frightened of what would haunt his dreams.

Lance raised an eyebrow as his eyes scanned over Keith’s hunched posture. “Yeah, you’re the picture of relaxation.” Shaking his head, Lance slumped next to him on the bench, knees spread and almost touching Keith’s. Biting his lip, Keith had to stop the instinct to press their thighs together and ground himself in Lance’s presence.

The silence that settled between them was light; nothing like the oppressive air that sat between Keith and Shiro, heavy with a million questions.

“You know,” Lance breathed, “you can let yourself go.”

“What?” Keith gasped, remembering all too clearly the last time he gave into his instincts and the righteous punishment that had followed.

Lance threaded his hands behind his head, features relaxed and barely moving beneath the hardening face mask. “We don’t expect you to recover so quickly, Keith. We know it’s not easy, so you don’t have to pretend.” There was a small pause as Lance swallowed, his tone almost syrupy as he finished, “We’re all here for you.”

Keith’s heart stuttered before blossoming, attempting to reach out for the comfort Lance was so openly providing. But he couldn’t know exactly what absolution he was giving Keith -- he didn’t know the horrors, the savagery, the atrocities.

So Keith said all that he could say with his tightening face mask and the tears that tightened around his throat, “Thanks.”

After a couple smiles and cracking face masks, Lance declared they were done and threw a rag at Keith to wash his face with. The water splattered all over the counter and down his forearms much to Lance’s chagrin. And of course, that wasn’t the end of it; he smeared something else over Keith’s skin and dragged him to the living room.

Keith’s face felt flushed, maybe it was from the hot water or the way Lance’s hand was so warm in his.

Plopping down on the couch across from the television, Lance pulled up the remote with that same excitement glinting in his eyes. “So we recently got a whole season of this Bii Boh Bi TV show called --”

“What the hell is a Bii Boh Bi?” Keith coughed, mind still hazy from the weight of Lance’s hand and the bitter coldness it had left in its wake.

Lance tipped his head back and laughed, ready to fill Keith in on all that he’d missed. So rather than watching whatever Lance had suggested, they watched the Voltron Show! Keith was curled up on the couch with laugher, cheeks sore from all the large smiles. He repeatedly paused it, asking Lance a million question about Coran’s brain worm or Shiro’s endless patience or how they’d gotten Red to participate in Lance’s elaborate dance.

Keith was so overwhelmed with joy that he could barely remember speaking to his aunt that morning and the bitterness of those memories. Instead, he went to bed with a full heart and smelling of vanilla and cedar, hoping that would be enough to ward off the dreams and memories that darkened the edges of his mind.

  


**~~~~**

  


He dreamed of harpoons and the taste of blood in water.

  


**~~~~**

  


He saw Lance again at breakfast, bangs curling against his forehead and wafting that soft vanilla scent with every turn of his head. After settling into the seat next to him, Lance elbowed him with a cocky smile. Rolling out his shoulders, Lance said, “Today’s a new day, Kogane. You ready to go down?”

Pidge choked on whatever she’d been eating, pounding on the table to clear her lungs as shock registered on her features.

“In the training room!” Lance jumped as a fine blush dusted his cheeks. “I meant, are you ready to taste defeat!”

“Oh my god,” Pidge muttered under her breath.

Placing his head in his open palm, Keith leaned against the table and gave Lance a cocky smile, raising a single eyebrow in contest. But he couldn’t fight the small chuckle that tilted the corners of his lips. After allowing his gaze to linger on the flush that darkened Lance’s cheeks, Keith’s eyes darted to Shiro, enjoying the appearance of the soft smile on his expression.

Unfortunately there hadn’t been much time for him and Shiro to talk since he’d woken up. As the black paladin, Shiro was always working with Allura so he hadn’t been on ‘Keith Watching Duty,’ because the whole universe didn’t stop just because Keith woke up.

Keith honestly wasn’t sure who was avoiding who.

Truth be told, he was afraid of how preceptive Shiro was -- that if they spent too much time together, Shiro would easily see through him as he always had. With one word, Shiro could tear down the threadbare barriers that held back the torrent of his memories, the horrors and the guilt that rotted him from within. And Keith was barely keeping it together as it was, with his bitten fingernails and lack of sleep as minor examples.

It would be so easy for Shiro to notice the fragility of his smiling and his confident facade. Understand all the things that he was hiding behind a cocky grin.

But right now, surrounded by all of their friends, Keith allowed himself to relish in these fleeting moments, because he had made it home. And despite the bitter taste Naxzela left on his tongue, he had finally succeeded.

  


**~~~~**

  


Lance strode into the living room with his hands buried in his pant pockets. His olive green jacket was tied around his waist. Keith felt his eyes trace the frayed hem of the sleeves as they swayed between Lance’s legs, remembering the days he buried his face into the collar and fell asleep to the calming scent practically sewn into the material.

Smirking and popping a hip out, Lance asked, “You ready to train?”

“Yeah,” Keith answered, patting Pidge on the head as she glanced up from her computer. Pushing her glasses up, she pinned Lance with a hardened gaze.

The blue paladin froze where he was standing as if deciphering Pidge’s message from the spark of her amber eyes and the tension to her shoulders.

Ruffling her hair more harshly, Keith captured Pidge’s attention. “Don’t worry, I know I’m not at full strength.” Glancing over his shoulder at Lance, Keith smiled confidently. “Lance and I will be careful.”

Crossing his arms, he walked away from Pidge to Lance’s side. Before the door even closed, he heard Pidge furiously typing once again.

Bumping his shoulder with Lance’s, Keith walked through the door and towards the training room he hadn’t visited since his return. Even without conscious thought, his feet would have taken him down these familiar hallways until they reached the large doors of the training room. Unsurprisingly, it looked the exact same, even those scuffs on the floor Keith had left in the days before this horrific turn of fate.

_“I won’t tell Allura if you wont.”_

The memories of this room were so visceral, colored in desperation and anger: a shining memory before the fog. He remembered spending day after day in here, fighting off the bloodlust that gnawed on his ribs. Now, he felt nothing except for a lingering exhaustion that settled like silt in his lungs.

Red purred in the back of his mind, encouraging him to train and become strong, to once again claim himself as her paladin.

Tossing his jacket off, Keith rolled out his shoulders and ignored the way his eyes trailed over Lance’s long limbs. Lance untied his jacket and threw it next to Keith’s. He was wearing an unfamiliar white t-shirt that seemed to cling to his biceps, more defined than Keith was familiar with.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Lance asked with more concern in his voice than the earlier playful bickering. His gaze seemed to linger on Keith’s arms, the sleeves of his t-shirt baggy around his biceps and his wrists wasp-thin.

Fighting the urge to cross his arms and hide the thinness of his body from Lance, Keith joked, “Sounds like you’re scared, Lance.” He rebutted Lance’s obvious concern the only way he knew how: with a challenge.

Jumping from side to side, Keith felt his blood rush in his ears and his adrenaline sing in his veins. Even though this body was weak, Keith had been training everyday too. His instincts were sharper than ever.

“Afraid your training won’t pay off?” Keith smirked.

Lance’s eyes narrowed, marching forward with determination that made Keith’s heart flutter. He felt like prey under Lance’s scrutiny, but he wasn’t sure he minded.

Rolling out his neck, Lance pulled his fists up in a fighting stance, ready for Keith to attack.

Without hesitation, Keith charged, suddenly missing the weight of the crowbar in his hands. Feeling slightly off balance, he punched with less power and determination. Lance easily dodged his half-hearted swing.

“Gonna have to do better than that, Kogane,” Lance laughed with a smile that almost dimpled his cheeks.

Keith steadied himself and shook out his hands, urging his mind to get accustomed to the weakness of his body. It was like he was once again learning how to control his vampiric strength or the way his tail fluttered in the water. But the foreign sensation wouldn’t fade, so Keith gritted his teeth and charged forward anyway.

Blocking Keith’s fist with the palm of his hand, Lance pushed Keith’s arm to the side and slipped behind him.

Growling, Keith turned on the ball of his foot and kept his eyes fixated on Lance -- not that he struggled with that anymore, his eyes were under a constant gravitational pull. And his Lance was beautiful, all smiles and jokes and bravado. Sweat dotted Lance’s brow, and Keith wanted to take the time to trace the way each bead of perspiration got to caress Lance’s features.

With a sigh, Keith allowed himself to fall into the adrenaline heavy fog that danced in his mind.

He couldn’t deny the power in Lance’s strikes or the confidence in his stride. And it was clear that Lance’s training had paid off when he trapped Keith in a submissive position several times, forcing him to surrender with the quick tap of his hands. Each time after shaking out his muscles, Keith charged back into another match with a snarl, enjoying the playfulness in Lance’s expression.

Keith relished in the exhausted weight of his limbs and the strain of his muscles with each swing and charge. Lance blocked another punch and pushed Keith to the floor with a victorious smirk.

“Looks like I win,” Lance said, as if knocking Keith to the floor was the finale to their long training session. Smiling triumphantly, Lance pointed a thumb at his chest while his other hand wiped the sweat from his forehead.

But before he could utter anything else, Keith swung his leg and knocked Lance’s legs out from underneath him. As the air was knocked from the blue paladin’s lungs, Keith mounted him and pinned his hands above his head in total submission.

“Surrender,” Keith gloated as Lance attempted to buck him off his hips. But Keith just smiled down at him, holding onto his hands tighter and squeezing his thighs around Lance’s hips. He enjoyed watching the way a scowl pulled at the corners of Lance’s lips.

Sighing dramatically, Lance relaxed into the awkward position and rolled his eyes with mirth. “Fine, you win this round.”

Keith couldn’t fight the grin that tugged on his lips as he gazed down at Lance. In that second, he realized how close they were: lips a breath away and chests pressed against each other, thundering with restless adrenaline and shuddering with hard breaths.

Unconsciously, Keith’s hands tightened their grip on Lance’s wrists, jagged fingernails digging into tender flesh. Lance flinched and attempted to pull his hands from where Keith had them pinned against the unforgiving training room floor.

“Keith,” he wheezed, but that only made Keith’s breath catch in his chest, eyes glossing over and seeing something else.

Holding Lance down and nails tearing into the dirt. The soft and giving kiss. Meeting the sea at high tide, powerful and tempting and the undertow was enough to drag Keith under. Drown him in the taste of blood and flesh and screams that he hungered for. Hunger that clawed at his stomach and the pure _ecstasy_.

_Ecstasy._

He threw himself from his position atop Lance, barely far enough away as his stomach clenched spilling its contents across the floor. Bile burned the length of his throat and dripped from tendrils of spit that glittered like gossamer threads. His back arched as tears stung his eyes and a scream burst from his lips. Hands trembled against the floor as if anxious to dig into tender flesh that fell off the bone at the easy snap of his teeth.

“Keith!” Lance’s voice was almost lost beyond the rush of blood in Keith’s ears and the scream that hollowed out his chest.

His mouth tasted of acid rather than the satisfying taste of blood. _Satisfying_. But Sendak’s flesh had tasted of sea salt and copper, and Keith had feasted in euphoria.

Falling to his forearms, Keith was unable to steady himself as a barrage of memories threatened to commandeer his mind and drown him in guilt. His eyes were unseeing in the blurriness of his tears. His fingertips felt numb, tingling with the sensation of death, so recent in his mind.

A gentle hand rested against his shoulder as if attempting to tear him from the grasp of the demon drowning him fathoms below the surface of sanity.

The touch was like the breath of a cold on his skin, only the light pressure of fingertips.

Snapping his head up to see Lance before him, Keith saw the pure shock on his features: the way his eyebrows furrowed, his lips parted like he was struggling for words, and palor to his skin that was sickly in the training room lighting. He was everything that Keith desired, wrapped in a package that he could never deserve: caring and compassionate and so Lance.

Keith staggered backwards, falling on his ass and scrambling to get as far away from the blue paladin as possible. Bile dripped between his lips. His stomach clenched, and Keith wasn’t sure if it was in disgust or hunger.

“Keith,” Lance mumbled, walking forward as if to hold or comfort Keith -- but he didn’t know.

He didn’t know what Keith had done.

“No!” Keith screamed, waving his hands and frantically searching for an exit. His heart hammered as tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, distorting his vision of Lance.

Lance’s footsteps stuttered, but he took another step forward. “Keith, please --”

“Don’t come any closer!!” Keith wailed, voice hoarse and cracking. His body trembled as he attempted to curb the kind of hunger that could never be sated, because he had always hungered: hungered for love and for affection and for Lance.

Lance’s eyes just widened in a way that Keith was so viscerally familiar with: concern and helplessness and everything that Keith inflicted on him.

The hand that Lance had been reaching out -- for Keith, to touch and hold and comfort -- dropped back to his side.

Keith wanted to call it back. To tell every horror he’d committed and beg for forgiveness. To show all the blood that stained his skin and somehow still expect comfort afterwards.

But that was too much to ask for.

Some atrocities were beyond absolution.

Pressing his numb fingertips to his lips, Keith choked back another surge of vomit. His mind spun. The floor was unsteady beneath him as memories flashed by, like a snap of lightning that lasted for only a second but illuminated everything that surrounded it. Each jolting recollection was quickly followed by a crack of thunder that vibrated against his ribs with the backlash of his emotions: the hunger, the desperation, the love, and the darkness that seemed to be apart of him, staining his bones and tainting his heart.

Rising to unsteady feet, he was desperate to escape. To isolate himself so that he could slowly compartmentalize his memories -- safely tuck them back within their graves, to keep them buried where they belonged -- without the fear of watchful eyes that would learn too much.

Lance reached out once again as if to steady him, but Keith flinched away -- unaware of what power Lance’s lithe fingers would have on him; they spun the ocean, commanded the tide, and Keith was a mere mortal in the hands of a god. He would crumble before he could sew himself back together.

“Sorry,” Keith whispered, choking back bile and tears, as if that was enough. As if any apology would be enough.

Stumbling to the door, he jammed his hands between the doors, ignoring the spike of pain that radiated up his forearms. Curling his fingers, he attempted to pry the doors apart, so accustomed to exiting this room without the use of the hand-scanner.

_“I won’t tell Allura if you won’t.”_

_(Blood, like copper and ash and ecstasy, flooded his mouth as flaps of flesh dangled between his teeth. Keith tipped his head back and trilled with victory as blood gurgled in his throat.)_

_“Lance wouldn’t have had to sacrifice if_  
_you weren’t just as bloodthirsty_  
_as all of the other Galra.”_

_(Keith brough the crowbar to Lance’s temple. Watched the way the flesh caved in. Watched limbs go weak and pliant in mauling grasps. Watched the small smile and delicate neck and broad shoulders and lithe fingers and bright eyes be consumed by zombies.)_

_“Keith, we can’t do this._  
_Not now, not when --”_

_(Hungered for more of the way that Lance tasted. He hungered. It was delicious, a delicacy beyond words. And Keith was so hungry, hungry, **hungry**.)_

His raw fingertips ached between the doors as a sob burst from his throat. Lips parting and saliva gathering in the corners of his mouth.

“Keith,” Lance said softly, jogging to his side and placing his hand on the scanner.

The doors hissed open, and Keith’s hands fell to his sides.

Stepping out in the hallway, Keith heard Lance’s footsteps behind him ( _the crack of plodding footsteps through the trees, the heavy weight of boots on a metal dock, the absence of his own footsteps as he was bound to Lance’s bedroom -- incorporeal and helpless_ ).

He was a shell, merely a container for this memories to manifest. Because somewhere along the way, he’d lost his humanity. No matter how tightly Pidge had held him when he’d woken from that nightmarish day; Or how Shiro had forgive him for leaving him unconscious in the weapons room closet; Or how Lance had thanked him in that coffee shop -- the price of his misdeeds was too heavy to pay.

Stumbling towards his room, Keith wound his fingers into his hair; sweaty tendrils brushed against the tender skin of his inner wrist. With a whine, he dug his jagged nails into his scalp to steady himself.

Each step was uncertain when his eyes were blurred by tears.

Running footsteps echoed up the hallway, carrying Shiro into Keith’s distorted vision.

Shiro’s voice was so loud it almost shattered Keith -- broke him into fragments of memories, into biting teeth and sharpened weapons. “What’s going on?” Shiro’s voice cracked in urgency as he rushed to Keith’s side.

“Don’t,” Keith croaked, pulling away from Shiro’s outreached hand -- the offer of help, of acceptance when his tongue still remembered the desire for flesh. When his hands still remembered the way to crush in a skull, the exact moment to strike before the pain of blunt teeth and slackened jaws overwhelmed.

Lance’s voice was a quiet hum behind him, “Shiro, I-I don’t know what--”

But Keith blocked everything out, steadying himself enough to jog down the hallway to his room. Leaning against the wall, he slammed his hand on the scanner and slipped inside before the door was completely open.

Locking it behind him, Keith slid down the door, feeling the cold of the metal against his sweaty back. It was grounding, something real in all of these incorporeal memories that threatened to drown him. His lips parted, jaw slack and waiting -- for vomit or flesh, Keith didn’t know.

With a bitten off sob, Keith pushed his forearm against his blunt teeth, forcing his jaw open wider and straining his neck muscles. He slowly sunk his teeth deeper, enjoying the spark of pain that seemed to ground him more than the cold wall against his back or the darkness of his room, only illuminated by the faint stars in the window.

He could only taste the sweat that had gathered on his arm during training; briny like the taste of Sendak’s skin, soft and giving for Keith’s serrated teeth.

Unfortunately, his arm couldn’t hold back the clench of his stomach. Leaning to the side, he vomited once again, almost relishing in the way that the bile stung his tongue and dissolved any traces of hunger.

He wasn’t sure if the hunger was a memory or a manifestation of his guilt or a genuine craving that he’d never be rid of.

Slumping against the wall, Keith squeezed his eyes closed and forced himself to focus on all the good that came from his mission -- all of the memories that were a touchstone for his sanity.

But everything from the time loop was still tinged with blood, so he focused on yesterday. He remembered the bathroom and the lingering scent of vanilla and how Lance had smeared that strange paste across his face. Those lithe fingers were so warm against his cheeks. They had settled into the couch, thighs almost touching and laughter ringing against the metallic walls of the castle. All of the hilarious Voltron Show moments, between Shiro’s mirthless acting and Lance’s constant enthusiasm.

With each breath, he felt his soul tether itself back to his body.

  


**~~~~**

  


He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before a soft knock sounded at his door. The thud vibrated down his spine and stirred him from the catatonic state he’d slipped into -- a dreamless space between wakefulness and slumber.

“Keith,” Shiro’s voice echoed through the metal, “you okay in there?”

“Yeah,” he grumbled in response, but he knew that Shiro wouldn’t be content with a simple one-word answer.

Rising to his feet, Keith leaned against the wall and unlocked his door. After a steadying breath, Keith opened it.

Shiro stood in the hallway, dark circles a little deeper under his eyes and smile a little forced. His hands were tapping against his thighs as if searching for something to do.

At the sight of Keith, Shiro’s smile turned a fraction more genuine. Scratching at the back of his neck, he began, “Hey, I just wanted to check in. You didn’t look so great earlier.”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks,” Keith mumbled, but he flinched when he recalled how harshly he’d treated Shiro: backing out of his touch and snapping at his gentle act of caring. “I’m sorry--”

“Don’t apologize,” Shiro stated, voice firm and expression stoney. “I’m always here for you. Even when you don’t want me to be.”

There was a stiff silence between them -- the tense one that had been an undercurrent in every one of their conversations, laced with subtext and a million unanswered questions.

Keith crossed his arms, to hide the slight tremble of his fingers; his body was still coming down from the adrenaline high of his panic attack. His limbs felt weak so he leaned even more heavily against the wall for support, hoping Shiro wouldn’t notice how much the panic had taken from him.

Shiro parted his lips and mumbled, “Are -- are you sure you don’t need the cryopod, Keith?”

His gaze snapped up to his best friend, eyes wide and brow furrowing as he watched a series of emotions flicker across Shiro’s face. “A cryopod?”

A shiver dragged the length of his spine, whispering the promise of more realms and people to protect. More blood and death and impossible missions. More time lost.

“No!” Keith shouted, waving his hands in front of himself as if desperate to ward off the chill that had settled into his skin.

“Keith, I don’t want --”

“No,” Keith growled, hands curling into fists and jaw clenching so hard, the sound echoed in the bathroom. “I’m fine, Shiro. I just pushed myself a little too hard.”

Shiro nodded, smiling weakly at the implication Keith’s words were carrying.

And Keith couldn’t stop the drive to fill the gasping silence between them. “I’m just a little weaker than I remember, but I’ll make sure to take it a little easier.”

“Well, if you’re sure.” Shiro looked reluctant, but he didn’t question Keith’s choice. He also didn’t ask what really happened, knowing full well that excess training hadn’t caused the breakdown Keith had experienced. But the storm was over for now, and Keith rubbed at the back of his neck with bitten and raw fingertips.

“Yeah, I’m sure, Shiro. Thanks for asking, but I’m really fine.”

Shiro took a tentative step back, pointing this thumb over his shoulder. “You coming to dinner?”

”Nah,” Keith shook his head, stifling a sudden yawn, “I’m exhausted so I’m going to rest up instead.”

“I’ll have Hunk save you a plate,” Shiro said and turned, walking down the hallway before Keith could protest -- it wasn’t like he could stomach food right now anyway.

A soft smile pulled at the corners of his lips, and part of Keith whispered, a breath louder than before, that he should tell Shiro everything. Shiro had never left him before, but Kerberos still felt fresh, dancing along with the taste of bile that coated his tongue.

  


**~~~~**

  


Lying in bed that night, Keith wondered if all of this was also the universe’s will -- that he was meant to suffer for everything he’d done to succeed.

  


**~~~~**

  


Keith woke peacefully, too exhausted to dream the night before. Rolling over, he pulled the blanket to his chin and closed his eyes, desperate for more restful slumber. But before a minute could pass, an alarm blared through the castle, lights flashing to the beat of Allura’s voice.

“Paladins,” Allura’s voice was sharp, “a Galra fleet has attacked one of our allied planets. To your lions!”

Before he could even think, Keith was racing through the castle, enjoying the weight of his armor on his body. With each footfall, he fought off the memory of the last time he wore this armor. Because today was a new battle, a new day, a new opportunity to reignite his purpose.

He had mourned being unable to save his friends during the battle of Naxzela. But as his feet found a confident stride, Keith realized that he needed to be alive for this -- to serve the universe and help all those in need.

He was a Paladin of Voltron: Defender of the Universe.

But as he skidded into the command center, Keith caught a glimpse of blue as it disappeared through the direct passage that lead to Red. Lance’s broad shoulders looked almost broader in the small tube. His skin was flushed under the red light.

And Keith realized that there wasn’t a lion for him.

He felt gutted, like someone had carved out his chest, leaving him a hollow shell. A simple wind could push him from his perch. But he clenched his hands and strode to Coran’s side.

A purr sounded softly in the back of his mind; a promise, a kind of understanding he’d missed in all the worlds without Jowangshin or Red.

Once again, he was forced to sit in the command center and watch the way the lions easily evaded and took down Galra fighter jets. His hands twitched against his sides as if mimicking their actions -- ready to summon the bayard that now hung by Lance’s hip.

The battlecruisers laid in pieces after Voltron finished, standing victorious with the shoulder cannon propped on its shoulder.

Coran cheered next to him, all smiles and laughs. “Congratulations Paladins!”

Keith had heard of Coran’s paladin armor: the cape donned with stars and sparkles, looking more like an Elvis impersonator than what Allura would call ‘Traditional Paladin Attire.’ So he couldn’t help but wonder if standing here, playing support to the Savior of the Universe, hurt Coran like it did Keith. Like an age-old pain, aching muscles and tender joints, something so familiar -- and yet, it never diminished over time.

But their victory did bring a smile to his face as he quickly went back to his room to change. The armor was too form fitting, hugging all of his new sharp angles. Plus, the other paladins didn’t need to feel guilty at their assumed rolls. They’d done right to continue Voltron in his absence, because it wasn’t like Keith was still fighting battles of his own.

At the thought, his forearm burned in the shape of his teeth, the impressions faded to yellowing bruises by this morning.

Wandering back into the command center, Keith was greeted with a large slap on the back by Hunk, wearing a smile that crinkled his eyes.

The joyous atmosphere that saturated the room was something Keith could get used to.

  


**~~~~**

  


Lance caught him just after lunch.

Keith was following Coran to the records room, ready to help organize or just stand around for hours listening to all of Coran’s stories. He was honestly thankful for the invitation, because a distraction was more than welcome to calm his overactive mind.

He couldn’t stop picturing yesterday: the familiar weight of Lance pinned beneath him, the lingering taste of blood on his tongue, the concern that Lance and Shiro wore so plainly.

Coran’s cheerful tone brought a soft smile to Keith’s face, drawing him from his thoughts. “I told Pop-pop Wimbleton that it would never work. You see ziplines were very common in Altean at the time, but I was always a fan of --”

“Keith?” Lance’s voice cut through Coran’s story with a shy, almost tentative tone.

Turning quickly, Keith caught sight of Lance, standing halfway down the hallway with his hands buried in his pockets and his shoulders hunched. He was wearing a grey t-shirt with a single stripe of blue across his chest. His jeans bunched over his shoes, fabric soft as cotton from overuse.

Lance, the blue paladin, charmer of any species, looked so timid that Keith was immediately on edge.

“Uh,” Lance scratched at the back of his neck and chuckled a dark laugh, “I was gonna call home in a couple minutes if you, uh, still wanted to join me.”

After how he had acted yesterday, Keith was positive that the offer to join the call was off. Because how could he speak to Lance’s family with all of his memories settled heavily against his mind? After he’d yelled at Lance and denied all of his invitations for comfort?

But Lance looked so sheepish at asking that Keith’s heart constricted in his chest. If Lance was willing to approach him after yesterday, Keith could hide his embarrassment and the lingering taste of blood on his tongue.

And if he’d learned anything in these past few months, it was that he had no idea how to say no to Lance.

Scratching at the back of his neck, Keith tried to fight of the sudden rush of heat that burned the back of his neck and the tears that coiled around his throat. “I didn’t want to, you know, intrude?”

“What? You’re not intruding, man.” Lance’s smile suddenly turned up to a million watts, all brightness and light. It appeared like a blessing from a goddess, just how Lance had manipulated the ocean with the snap of his fingers. “Veronica is probably tired of talking to just me. She’s actually excited to meet you.”

“You told her about me?” Keith mumbled. He clenched his jaw as an afterthought, because there was so much weight to that question.

Lance shrugged half-heartedly. “She knows about all the paladins, but she did admit to reading your file.” Keith cringed, knowing that it was probably four inches thick with all of his disciplinary reports. “So, you’ve got that to look forward to,” Lance chuckled.

Keith groaned. “Great. I’m sure she has a _great_ impression of me.”

Looking over his shoulder, Keith parted his lips to ask Coran if it was okay to go. But he caught Coran’s tender expression, the one he normally saved for Allura, and the question kind of answered itself.

“Thanks for letting me steal him, Coran,” Lance said, giving Keith another blinding smile and nodding his head in the direction of the command center.

Keith swallowed the hope that bubbled in his chest at Lance’s open acceptance -- like yesterday hadn’t meant anything. A dangerous part of him pleaded to tell them everything, and as this weight on his shoulders grew with each day, he was so tempted to share the burden.

“Okay,” Lance began, lacing his hands behind his head, “Veronica is my oldest sister and she works as a lead analyst and battle tactician at the Garrison. So if she starts talking about formations or strategies, you can just ignore her.”

Keith nodded along like he wasn’t already intimately familiar with the entirety of Lance’s family.

An ease blossomed between them, something that called to the memories of them nestled in the windowsill. Lance’s expression was open and his hands dropped from behind his head, like he needed to gesture to accurately tell a story.

Perking up, Lance pinned Keith with his gaze. “Oh, she’s perpetually nosy, so don’t be afraid to tell her to mind her business. And as a warning, if you give her an inch, she _will_ take a mile. So if you aren’t ready to talk about your entire medical history or something, I would watch what you say.”

Keith couldn’t fight the laugh that bubbled from his chest.

How was it that Lance, the center of every horror Keith had experienced and committed, could free him from the bonds of his memories? It was almost as if yesterday was a distant memory, only stinging with a fraction of the pain.

Lance’s voice was soft as he asked, “What?”

“It’s just,” Keith began, turning his gaze away from Lance’s curious expression, “it’s like you’re preparing me for an interrogation. It’s just your family.”

“That’s exactly the reason. It’s _my_ family, Keith.” Brushing imaginary dirt off his shoulders, Lance shot him that cocky grin, “They can’t all be as charismatic and charming as me.”

Keith couldn’t hold back his snort of laughter.

“Hey!”

  


**~~~~**

  


They stood on the dias of the command center, shoulders almost brushing in order for them to be in the frame tucked into the corner of the holo-screen.

The atmosphere was one of anticipation, contrasting so distinctly from the last time Keith had spoken to someone on Earth. He could practically see his aunt’s wrinkled face and the way her hand had trembled against her cross necklace.

He was almost jealous of Lance and his family -- who even though they didn’t understand Lance’s sexuality at first and wanted to pretend it didn’t exist, never abandoned him. Not that the scenarios Lance explained were something to be envied.

With a quiet blip, the picture flickered to life on the holo-screen, showing the smiling face of someone who looked so similar to Lance. She had his eyes -- brilliant blue like the Carribean ocean Lance had described so many times -- but they were a little more creased in the corners from her wide grin. Her hair was pinned back from her face as it fell to her shoulders in rolling curls. The Garrison green almost looked garish against her copper skin tone, and in that instant, Keith could picture Lance in the Garrison orange, smile prideful and stride determined.

“Lance!” Veronica called out.

“Ronnie! How are --”

“And you must be Keith?” Veronica cut Lance off, eyes instantly narrowing in on Keith.

“Nice to meet you, Veronica.” Keith smiled, noticing the way Lance crossed his arms and stiffened.

Glancing out of the corner of his eyes, Keith saw the pinched nature to Lance’s features as if he was anticipating something.

“Lance, you should’ve told me that you were bringing Keith along. Mama is dying to meet him after everything you’ve told us.” Veronica’s expression was only slightly mischievous as she spoke, her gaze directed more towards Lance than Keith.

Yep -- Keith was pretty sure that that was what Lance was worried about.

Lance’s shoulders hunched as he ran a hand through his hair with an exasperated sigh. “You make it sound like I waxed poetic about him on every video call.”

Veronica crossed her arms, a data pad pinned between her forearm and her chest. She shrugged her shoulders as if that answered Lance’s accusation. “We all just wanted to thank him.” Her gaze jumped to Keith as her shoulders dropped and honesty settled in her features. “Thank you for protecting him, Keith. He may be a self-sacrificing idiot, but he’s our idiot.”

Her expression was so fond that Keith couldn’t stop the words that tumbled from his lips, “It was the least I could do.”

Keith thought that Lance’s posture couldn’t get any more stony. Yet, his bones seemed to turn to steel, because there were months and months of weight that settled on Keith’s declaration.

Clearing his throat, Keith stood a little taller and continued as if that would dissipate the tension from the air. “He’s our self-sacrificing idiot too.”

“Hey, I am right here,” Lance chided both of them, but despite his casual tone, his posture didn’t relax. “Anyway, how’s Rachel?”

Veronica’s serious expression turned sheepish, and her gaze dropped to the floor. “Uh, She’s good.”

“Ronnie.” Lance raised a single eyebrow.

“Okay, okay. She’s so fucking cranky that I’ve been avoiding her.” Veronica huffed, and finally the tension in Lance’s shoulders vanished with a chuckle. “Don’t laugh! The last time I visited, she made me rub her feet while she ate pickles in ice cream. _In_ ice cream, Lance. It was absolutely disgusting. And well, Miguel married her, so he can deal with her. I’ll just come around after the baby’s born.”

Lance had clamped his bottom lip between his teeth in a failed attempt to stop a smile. Keith couldn’t fight the grin that twitched at the corners of his lips.

“She also won’t stop complaining. Like I understand that she’s almost 9 months pregnant, but come on! I don’t want to hear about how the baby is sitting on your bladder, you know?” Whatever composure Veronica had embodied in the beginning of the call had vanished. Her cheeks were pink with irritation, and her tone was loud with fervor.

Lance had clasped his arms around his stomach as he curled over with laughter.

Helium filled Keith’s lungs and made his heart sore. His cheeks almost hurt with the force of his smile. It was such an unfamiliar feeling that this felt more like dreaming than his usual nightmares.

“Yeah, keep laughing from space, Lance. Who’s Zarkon anyway? Pregnancy hormones are the real threat to the universe,” Veronica scoffed, but it was obvious that she couldn’t fight a smile either.

Like a damn bursting, Keith laughed -- tipped his head back and laughed like he was cleansing his soul of all the silt that had settled in his lungs with the taste of blood. Glancing at Lance, Keith’s smile only broadened.

The blue paladin looked like a supernova, a star on the verge of brilliance, and Keith was more than willing to be trapped in the destruction just to witness its beauty.

“Sorry,” Lance chuckled, but it was obvious that he was anything but sorry. “Sorry, that’s just the funniest thing I’ve heard all week. You would rather fight in a 10,000 year old war then hang out with your pregnant sister.”

“ _Pickles in ice cream_ , Lance. That’s psychological torture beyond Zarkon’s imagination,” Veronica scoffed with that smile, a grin almost as magnetic as Lance’s.

“When she due?” Keith asked, straightening his posture and wiping the last traces of laughter from his tone.

Veronica hummed in response, looking at her data pad before saying, “In three weeks, I think.”

“Will I get pictures of the baby?” Lance asked, perking up at the prospect of seeing his new niece or nephew. “Have they decided on a name yet? Because I’m pretty sure Lance is going to be very popular soon, you know with being savior of the universe and all.” And he flashed that classic debonaire smile.

“The number one baby name on all coalition planets,” Keith chuckled, playing along with Lance. It felt so strangely natural, this playful version of their bickering, and Keith wanted to bundle it up to warm his heart when he woke in the middle of the night with a scream dying on his tongue.

Shaking her head, Veronica’s comical scowl deepened. “Rachel would bite my head off if I even dared to suggest anything. Mama has been searching baby name registries and emailing Rachel with all of her suggestions. So, there’s absolutely no way in hell I’m not adding lighter fluid to that fire.”

Keith bumped his shoulder against Lance’s, almost high on their closeness and the laughter that still sung in his blood. “You’ll just have to settle for thousands of strangers naming their babies after you, Lance.”

Huffing a dramatic sigh, Lance said, “I guess it’ll have to do.”

There was a small pause between them, a peaceful silence that was filled with the ticking clock at the corner of the screen. They didn’t have much time left, and that dampened the joy that danced in the air around them.

The blue paladin straightened and donned that serious expression that Keith was only now growing accustomed to. Lance’s voice was tight when he spoke, “You’ll tell everyone I love them, right?”

Veronica nodded, smile a little weak. “Of course. I always do.”

“Even Rachel? I don’t care if she bites your head off in the process.”

“Even Rachel.”

Touching Lance’s shoulder, Keith left the room, giving Lance the final minute to spend with his sister.

Leaning against the wall in the hallway, Keith squeezed his eyes closed and struggled to absorb all of their laughter, to bottle it up and take it like a pill -- something to keep him going like his mission had when he was trapped in that loop of time.

The doors opened with a soft hiss, and Keith glanced up at Lance. His expression was dark, and Keith didn’t have to guess why.

“Thanks for letting me join. I-I actually really needed that.” Keith said, watching the way Lance’s expression carefully morphed itself into something casual.

“You’re lucky,” Lance began, lacing his hands behind his head and marching off down the hallway. Keith followed, because he was a man dictated by gravity and he was hopelessly drawn to Lance. “I honestly expected Veronica to grill you.”

Keith hummed, unsure how to respond.

Lance’s shoulders rose, his relaxed posture looking stiff and awkward. Before Keith could ask if everything was okay, Lance spoke, “I, uh -- she -- Veronica, um, she wanted to say to be careful out there. That even if you’re protecting me, you should take care of yourself, you know?”

A soft blush dusted Lance’s cheekbones, and Keith hummed in response, enjoying the way Lance’s posture relaxed. He chose to not think about the way his heart fluttered at Lance’s declaration. Because maybe this Lance didn’t need to be told that they were more than just teammates.

Keith crushed the part of his heart that longed for more than just friends.

With a stuttering breath, Keith said, “Of course, sharpshooter.”

And before Hunk called Lance to help with something and Keith went to find Coran in the records room, Keith enjoyed the way Lance’s features fluttered with shock at the nickname. He could have sworn he saw a dusting of pink on Lance’s cheeks before Hunk drew their attention.

Keith found himself smiling as he walked off to help Coran -- a genuine smile and a genuine surprise in the wake of yesterday.

Yeah, he would stay and watch the brilliance of Lance’s star even if it destroyed him. He was a supernova that Keith would die to watch.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! ❤
> 
> I had a really fun time writing the scene with Veronica, Lance, and Keith! It was such a light hearted break from the angst I'm used to writing haha
> 
> Once again, thank you to everyone who leaves kudos and the nicest comments!! Some of you have been leaving comments since I posted the first chapter, and I just want to say that you are all so amazing, and thank you for sticking with me for so long (≧◡≦) ♡


	57. Doubt Thou the Stars Are Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because if it wasn’t Hunk, it was Allura. Lance was always attracted to the heart, the softness and bravery that was so inherent in Allura and Hunk.
> 
> It was everything Keith wasn’t: all rough edges and brashness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm several days late, but I'm actually really happy with how this chapter turned out, so I hope you all enjoy!! (≧▽≦)/

“Get up!” Someone called from the hallway, and Keith’s eyes shot open, toes curling and hands reaching for the cloak that hung by the door. “Kogane, get up!” But the voice wasn’t Kolivan’s deep rasp, the floor wasn’t stone beneath his feet, and the Galra weren’t attacking the castle. Jowangshin wasn’t a tickle of flames in his stomach, even though he longed for her guidance and friendship every single day since he’d left her realm.

His heart thundered in his chest, and his fingers were numb as they clenched into fists at his sides. A soft purr sounded in the back of his mind as Red promised comfort in her presence, promised companionship and understanding.

He was home. But the amount of times he had to steady himself with that thought alone was uncountable.

Walking to the door, it hissed open with the press of his palm against the hand-scanner. His lips were stretched in a taut line and his muscles held the tension from his lingering nightmare. He could almost feel the bubble of fire in his stomach and the burn of poison in the back of his throat.

A soft sigh left his lungs as he glanced at Pidge, standing in front of his door with a smirk cresting her features. She quickly tucked the hand that had knocked on his door into the pocket of her oversized hoodie.

“Shiro’s helping Allura with Lotor, so I’m on wake-up duty today.” Pidge shifted her weight to one hip and shrugged.

If Keith hadn’t seen her through a million universes, he would leave it at that, taking her nonchalance as fact. But he caught the way she hid her trembling fingers in her pocket and the way tension dissipated from her shoulders and the relief in her eyes -- like she didn’t expect him to be here, that this was some kind of dream. And Keith completely understood.

Nodding in response, Keith walked to his closet to change out of his slightly sweaty pajamas. “I’m surprised you’re awake before all of us,” he commented over his shoulder. When he didn’t get a response, he turned to look at Pidge. She was chewing on her bottom lip, toe of her slipper scratching at the ground. “You haven’t slept have you?”

“Was it the undereye bags or the caffeinated twitching that gave me away?” The smirk was audible in her tone.

“What were you working on so late?” Keith asked, only remembering Pidge losing sleep in the search for her family. There were so many morning he’d walk in on Pidge sprawled across the couch, eyes bloodshot and fingers tapping an unfamiliar rhythm on her computer. Hell, the morning he woke to repeatedly, she was always next to him -- exhausted and working.

But Matt and Dr. Holt were safe, so what could she be working on with such fervor.

Pidge shrugged her shoulders in lack of a response. But when Keith’s posture shifted to something tense with worry, she seemed to relent. Her eyebrows furrowed, and her tone was quick, like a sigh. “My dad snuck in a copy of Killbot Phantasm 26: Revengifiance into the last shipment from Earth.”

Unbidden, the laugh burst from his chest like fireworks, crackling against his tongue and lifting his spirits. In the craziness of war, Keith could almost forget that Pidge was still a teenager -- he was one too, not so long ago.

“Glad you finally got the gaming system hooked up,” Keith said, unable and unwilling to wipe the smile from his face. “But don’t let Shiro find out. He’ll probably ground you.”

“We’re literally fighting an intergalactic war, and you think I’m afraid of Shiro grounding me?”

“That’s if you’re lucky. Shiro might use the,” and Keith furrowed his brow and tried to look as serious as Shiro did when speaking this line, “‘I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed’ line, which is definitely worse.”

Pidge seemed to consider him before shrugging and turning to walk towards Lance’s door. “You haven’t met Colleen Holt. Matt and I swear she used to work as a lawyer for the devil. Anyway, breakfast is in ten.”

His door slid shut after she’d walked away, and Keith huffed another chuckle at Pidge’s comment. Maybe he could convince Pidge to let him join one of her calls to Earth, that way he could meet this infamous Colleen Holt. But he didn’t want to intrude. Talking with Veronica should have satisfied him after the call with his aunt, but it somehow left him hungering for more.

Shaking off the thought of hunger, he began to get ready. He expected to have to calm himself after his nightmares, steadying the trembles and wiping the cold sweat from his back and forehead. But, he was smiling and eager to spend time with the rest of the team just from his short talk with Pidge. It was refreshing.

The smile from earlier didn’t fade has he finished getting ready and walked out of his bedroom.

Pidge and Lance were standing in the middle of the hallway, talking animatedly for how much they both denied being morning people.

Lance was dressed in those paladin pajamas -- the blue that brought out the ocean of his eyes that were crinkled at the corners with joy. Pidge was nestled under his arm with a scowling expression that belied her playfulness. Ruffling her hair, Lance laughed as Pidge swatted at his hands.

“I already have a big brother, Lance. I don’t need another one,” Pidge grumbled, hands dropping to cross in front of her chest. A petulant frown twisted her features as blush darkened her cheeks.

“Yeah, but I’m actually a cool older brother,” Lance laughed and the sound of it, like ringing church bells, made Keith’s knees weak.

Leaning against the threshold to his room, Keith crossed his arms and hoped his voice sounded as nonchalant as his posture, “I’m sure your siblings would beg to differ, Lance.”

Both the paladins before Keith, jumped and looked at him as if he was a ghost they hadn’t expected to see haunt these halls. As if they still weren’t accustomed to his presence.

“I mean, didn’t Marco try to vote you off the island?” Keith continued, ignoring the way their expressions softened when they looked at him. His throat constricted, because this entire time, he’d only thought of himself.

He hadn’t even considered what it would be like to keep him in that cryopod for months with no knowledge of when he was going to leave.

Before Keith’s fingers could dig into his biceps or his thoughts could slip down the well-worn slope to darkness, Lance stepped forward. He always drew all of Keith’s attention, and this time, Keith willfully fell into Lance’s powers. He longed for the peace he found yesterday during their talk with Veronica or the night before when they’d watched the Voltron Show.

“That’s because I was his biggest competition!” Lance shouted, poking Keith in the chest and giving him a playful scowl.

Glancing up, Keith met those ocean eyes, allowing himself to be drawn in by the undertow like he was the moon, somehow at the mercy of the changing tide.

Lance furrowed his brow as if he was debating on asking Keith something, but before Lance could say anything, Hunk’s warm voice echoed down the hall, “Come on! Breakfast is ready.”

Closing his eyes, Keith struggled to remember a time when the softness of Hunk’s voice didn’t make him think of how he spoke to Lance, broad fins and casual touches and the way he’d mourned his soulmate in the corridors of the fortress.

Slipping out from in front of Lance, Keith dug his hands into his pockets and walked towards the kitchens. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught the stiffness to Lance’s posture and the way he looked to Pidge for answers. “Hunk won’t be happy if you guys stall any longer,” he chuckled, and enjoyed the sound of Lance’s footsteps following him for once.

  


**~~~~**

  


Allura marched into the kitchen just after breakfast began. Shiro followed just behind her with an unfamiliar scowl.

Allura’s hair was pulled into a messy ponytail as if she had been running her hands through it just before she stepped into the room. There was a darkness to her expression that Keith was eerily familiar with, but there was a light to her eyes, a hope that still burned with a passion. Admittedly dealing with Queen Allura of the mermaid realm had been the most difficult, the lack of hope had permeated the water around her, making his gills flutter at the bitter taste. So seeing his Allura, with her unflagging determination, was refreshing.

Shiro didn’t look much better with the lack of sleep evident on his features. But Keith couldn’t focus on his best friend, too aware of the mounting questions between them. He knew Shiro was going to pin him down soon and demand answers with his probing smiles.

“Well I questioned Prince Lotor about the attack yesterday, and he claims to know nothing about it,” Allura said.

“Typical,” Hunk grumbled under his breath.

“He also says that he is only willing to cooperate if we aid him in his,” she cleared her throat and rose three fingers for her attempt at quotation marks, “‘righteous’ claim for the Galra Empire.” Clenching her hands at her sides, she ground her teeth and it was the most human Keith had ever seen Allura. She always tried to be strong: a leader, a princess, and a role model, but it was the moments of vulnerability that Keith appreciated the most.

“What does he even want to do with the Empire? Follow in his father’s footsteps?” Lance asked flippantly, pushing his plate to the side as if ready to completely focus on this conversation rather than breakfast.

Allura strode forward and slumped into her chair. Waving her hand in the air, she grumbled, “Peace and all the stuff that Kolivan said.”

Shiro grabbed two plates of waffles and placed them on the table for him and Allura. “He was actually very charismatic.” The way Shiro said it made it seem both like praise and condemnation.

“But you don’t believe him?” Keith interrupted, even though the answer was clear on Allura’s face.

“I don’t trust him as far as I could throw him,” Allura growled, face twisting into something dark and cruel before she sighed and rubbed her hands down her cheeks. “How are we supposed to trust the son of Zarkon to do right by his promises? Zarkon was my father’s best friend, and you -- you know where that got him.”

Dipping her head forward, Allura hid her expression behind the end of her ponytail. Watching her hands tense on the arms of her chair was telling enough.

“I wish we could just keep him locked in the cell until further notice,” Allura mumbled under her breath.

With a wry smile, Lance leaned forward, pointing his fork as syrup dripped off the end and splattered on the table. “Where are non-cogs when you need ‘em?”

There was a small smattering of laughter in response to Lance’s joke, but Keith was fixated on Lotor, on the new threat to his teammates.

Lotor had saved him, but it seemed that everything the Prince did was for some kind of advantage.

Keith could only picture Nyma’s face, flirtatious smiles hidden behind delicate gloves and the glint to her eyes as she carelessly traced poison along Lance’s tanned skin. But he couldn’t forget Nyma’s help when he rescued Lance from the Galra: her determination, her willingness, and how instrumental she was in saving Lance.

If the universe was trying to teach Keith a lesson about trust, he obviously hadn’t learned it in all of the alternate realities he’d been too.

Excusing himself from the table, Keith ignored the concerned look in Shiro’s eyes as he stalked from the room. His fingers twitched with anticipation, a dizzying rush of adrenaline pumped in his veins, anxious to take his fate and clasp it with his two hands. As if by habit, he found himself outside of the training room -- as if his body needed action to work out the problems spinning in his mind, so unaccustomed to having a chance to think things through.

But before he could enter, a familiar voice called out his name, “Keith.”

Turning around, Keith saw Lance marching towards him, hands buried deep in his jacket pockets and eyes fixated on the floor. Scratching at the back of his neck, Lance glanced up at him with a bashful smile. His eyes flickered to the training room door and back to Keith’s face before he said, “I’m sorry about the other day. I should’ve told you yesterday, but I--uh, I pushed it too far.”

“It wasn’t your fault. And it’s really no big deal.” Keith shrugged, unfamiliar with the expectant way Lance was looking at him.

“What?” Lance’s features shifted to confusion, brows lowered and gaze narrowed. He stepped forward, and Keith felt his head tip back more than normal to see Lance -- had he grown while Keith was stuck in a cryopod. How had he not noticed until now? “Are you serious?”

Keith crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, challenging Lance’s abrupt irritation.

“You’re serious,” Lance huffed, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “Shiro was worried about not putting you back in the cryopod, and you’ve only just gotten out. And we’re all kind of worried that --” but Lance cut himself off with a harsh cough, eyes darting from the scowl Keith could feel curling his lips.

They both knew to what Lance was referring.

If Keith went in the cryopod again, when would he come out?

“I’m fine, Lance. I told Shiro last night that I just need to learn my limit.” With a half-hearted shrug, Keith pushed off the wall and placed his hand on the scanner to the training room door. “I’m just not used to taking it easy.”

But before Lance could say anything a harsh buzz echoed down the hallway, the scanner under Keith’s hand turning a bright red. Yanking his head back, Keith mumbled, “What the hell?”

Pressing his hand to the scanner again, another loud buzz sounded and made Keith cringe.

“Damn thing’s broken,” Keith grumbled, motioning for Lance to come closer. “Lance, you try.”

“Why?” Lance grumbled as he stepped forward. “You know third time’s always the charm when it comes to boobytraps, and I’ve already had this castle try to kill me more times than I can count.”

With a playful smirk, Keith grabbed Lance’s wrist and pushed his palm against the hand scanner, much to Lance’s chagrin.

But rather than a blaring error message, the doors slid open with a small hiss.

Keith stepped through the doors, only to turn a glare on Lance’s hunched figure. The moment he caught the expression on Lance’s face, he knew Lance was more than familiar with this “error system” then he was letting on.

“What the fuck is going on?” he asked Lance point blank.

Lance shrugged and kicked at the floor with the toe of his shoe. “It’s a locking function to the training room.”

“A locking function?” He could hear the sharpness to his voice, like shrapnel and cracking glass.

“Look, the only reason I know what it is--” Lance cleared his throat and stood a little straighter, “--is because Allura locked me out of here after a bad week of late-night training. It’s kind of a buddy system, so our best paladins don’t run themselves into the ground.”

“A buddy system,” Keith found himself repeating.

Lance’s smile was slightly forced, and even though Keith could barely see around his rising furry, he saw Lance’s hands fidget in his pockets. He was so attuned to Lance’s movements that even when he wanted to sink into his rage, he couldn’t help but notice.

“So I guess we’re training buddies for now,” Lance shrugged and his smile turned a little more genuine.

And Keith didn’t want to deny Lance’s shy smile.

But the bloodlust sung in his blood, so desperate for release, to crush and break and destroy with just the snap of his fingers. He was too frustrated too think, to process the thoughts swarming like locusts in his mind. And he just needed to clear his mind for a minute -- focus solely on the weight of his weapon and the ache in his muscles and the milliseconds of thought before the next hit. If he was fighting Lance, there was no way that Keith could focus all his rage into each tendon and muscle without care for Lance’s safety.

“Well, I guess you can watch me train against the gladiator then.” Keith threw his jacket to the corner and yanked a staff off the wall, a similar in weight to his crowbar. It was longer than his old weapon, but it was familiar nonetheless. Sinking into a fighting stance, everything fell into place, and Keith’s mind was no longer on the whispered questions and worries at the back of his mind.

Lance shrugged and leaned against the wall, foot propped up and arms crossed, eyes analytical. “That works. I’m actually pretty full from breakfast.”

“Start gladiator training level 4,” Keith called out, only for nothing to start. The training room remained silent and empty.

Hunching his shoulders and growling, Keith glanced towards Lance.

With a warm smile, Lance yelled, “Start gladiator training level 3.”

“Lance!” -- was all Keith could say before the gladiator dropped from the ceiling and completely distracted him. His limbs were still sore from their sparring match the other day, and Keith was slow to dodge the gladiator’s attacks, no matter how boldly translated they were; he could see the strikes seconds before he could force his body to move accordingly.

It took five minutes before Keith knocked the gladiator to the ground in a sprinkle of blue cubes. Sweat gathered on his brow, sticking his shirt to his back and making his gloves slick against his palms.

The battle had taken two minutes too long. When they first started using the training room, Allura had explained that each level not only increased the difficulty, but in order for them to pass a level they had to beat it in the corresponding number of minutes. And Keith knew that if he was up to full strength, he wouldn’t need three minutes to send the gladiator to binary hell; the weakness of his limbs wouldn’t leave even with his gritted determination.

He ignored Lance’s exaggerated clapping. But he couldn’t stop his gaze from darting to the blue paladin, leaning so casually against the wall. The fluorescent lights shown on him, casting his eyes in shadow and obscuring his features, but he was still radiant -- all long legs and tanned skin.

“Nice job,” Lance said.

Keith didn’t hear any insincerity in Lance’s tone, but he couldn’t stop the way he bristled at the comment, so prepared for consendention.

“Thanks,” Keith spit, wiping his forehead with the back of his forearm.

His arms already felt leadden. His knees were weak. And each breath felt like sandpaper against his lungs, aching and unable to drawn in enough air.

“Think you can go again?” Lance asked with a challenge so clear in his voice that Keith almost didn’t pick up on the muted concern. “Or are you too tired?”

Keith straightened his back, rolling out his neck and allowing his lips to curl into a bright smile -- so happy, too happy, to be the center of Lance’s attention and his worries and oh, god, Keith just wanted to run his hands through that wind-tousled hair and kiss those lips and drown himself in Lance.

But the frustration still sung in his blood, and he could imagine their kiss turning passionate, to biting and nipping, to something that only appeared in his memories.

Swallowing bile, Keith accepted the challenge Lance presented, because it was so much easier to fall back into their easy dynamic as rivals, then to allow his pining heart a chance to take wing.

“Oh, hell yeah. I can go again.”

“Start gladiator level 2,” Lance called with a mischievous look on his face.

“Lance are you serious? This isn’t going to be a challenge,” Keith called out, flipping the short staff in his hands and adjusting to the unfamiliar weight. He could physically feel the longing for his crowbar, his security in a world that provided none.

The gladiator dropped from the ceiling with a quiet thud, before it charged Keith with the extended staff. All of the moves were significantly slower, and Keith thrust forward multiple times. But he was never fast enough. It was like fighting through a suit of molasses, his blood too viscous to pump through his veins and his muscles like petrified wood.

Charging forward with abandon, Keith allowed the bloodlust that had bubbled in his veins to take control. He relished in those self-sacrificing tactics that had won him battle after battle.

But instead of winning, he was too slow and the gladiator jabbed the staff into Keith’s chest, sending him skidding across the floor. The breath was knocked out of his lungs. Pain radiated along each rib as he struggled to sit up and inhale, but he only managed a wheezing gasp. His staff was still clutched in his trembling hands.

“Deactivate training sequence!” Lance screamed, charging forward with frantic footsteps and warm hands that pressed to Keith’s shoulders. A breath stuttered through his chest, lungs burning and sternum aching with each pulse of his heart. “Keith, are you --”

“I’m fine, Lance,” Keith coughed, leaning into Lance’s touch and allowing the blue paladin to pull him to a sitting position. Lance’s fingers tightened on Keith’s shoulders, but he could still feel them tremble.

With a aching sigh, Keith allowed himself the small relief of falling against Lance’s chest. He enjoyed the warmth of Lance’s arms around him, even as the other boy’s breath caught in his chest.

Keith breathed, “I hate this.”

“You know it’s only because we care about you, right?” Lance’s voice was a quiet whisper. Each breath was a wash of warmth across Keith’s skin, because everything about Lance was warm and sunny and bright. “What would’ve happened if you’d actually gone on level four with no one else here? You need to take care of yourself.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Keith mumbled, pressing himself a little closer against Lance’s chest as if to escape the world, to pretend that he had just saved Lance and the relief of success was saturating his bones, to pretend that he could have this -- even for a moment. “I -- I hate being so goddamn weak. I can barely do anything, and it’s so fucking frustrating.”

He wasn’t sure how those words spilled from his lips? Had it been the training from days seated in the castle windowsill where there were no consequences to anything he said -- because his Lance would never remember.

But the issue was that this Lance now had the chance to remember everything, because without warning, this cycle had ended.

Would the battle at Naxzela have been the closure Keith needed? Had Lotor taken even more away from him than he realized?

His fingers tightened in Lance’s t-shirt, wrinkling the fabric and threatening to stain it with the clotted blood of his bitten fingernails. “I’m just so weak,” he exhaled, voice tight and on the verge of a sob. Because he had always been weak: since his father died and everyone stopped listening to him, his aunt sending him away at the earliest convenience. He had refused to open up, to be vulnerable again, but then Shiro waltzed in with a bright smile and all the patience in the world. But Keith had lost him too. And then he had lost Lance before he even realized what he had.

And now he felt like he was losing his sanity.

Lance’s chest rumbled under Keith’s fingers, and he couldn’t help but pull back and gaze up at the blue paladin’s face. Lance’s smile was small, a fragile thing built from the muted humor of this situation, but his cheeks were almost dimpled and the skin crinkled around his eyes -- those bright, ocean eyes.

“You, Keith Kogane? Weak?” Lance chuckled again, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Before Keith’s fury could ignite like a pyre, Lance continued, “You’re the strongest person I know.”

Keith swore his heart stopped. The look in Lance’s eyes was so familiar to an expression he’d seen before -- an expression he’d been close enough to touch, to kiss, to cherish.

“Shit, I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Lance confessed under his breath before stumbling through the rest of his explanation, “but I really admired you at the Garrison. Like you were the best pilot without even trying! I could never really measure up to all that, even as the red paladin. So I’ve never seen you as weak, Keith. You’ve always been such a driving force of Voltron, and with you gone, I -- yeah,” Lance cleared his throat and chewed on his bottom lip to stop any more words from spilling out.

Keith felt Lance shrug his shoulders.

His vision was stolen by a series of memories that played before his eyes: Lance in all his glory, piloting and shooting arrows and summoning the ocean and somehow managing to bring a smile to all the teammates faces without even trying. And the softer moments too: sitting in the windowsill of the castle, standing the hallway while Lance told him he mattered while his mind spiraled closer to Jowangshin, and the quiet thanks as they left the Galra compound and dove into the sea.

“Lance,” Keith pulled back slightly so that he could look up and meet Lance’s gaze -- the ocean, cerulean and so expansive. Each of the words that followed felt summoned by Lance’s gravity, instinctual as they slowly fell from his lips. He wasn’t sure when he became so subject to Lance’s gravitational force, but Keith’s only centering force seemed to be Lance. “You’re more than good enough.”

But his tone wasn’t strong enough, because Lance’s face scrunched. His hands recoiled as he tried to open the space between them. “Keith, you really don’t have to--

Gripping Lance’s jacket tighter, Keith pulled Lance closer, enjoying the warmth that threatened to singe him. The words continued, compelled by gravity. “I mean, you’re so compassionate and caring and smart--

“Keith--”

“You’re always willing to help everyone you meet, even if you’ve just me them. And you come up with the best strategies--”

“Keith, what’re you--”

“And--and you always know how to cheer everyone up, even if they don’t realize it themselves. It’s not hard to see why you’re a Paladin of Voltron. It’s amazing -- you’re amazing. It’s honestly so easy to see why I fell in lo--”

Keith was cut off by the sharp hiss of the training room doors opening.

Allura stood in the threshold to the training room, wearing her paladin armor while holding the blue bayard and several water pouches in her arms. Her focused expression quickly shifted to one of shock and then a blushing embarrassment.

“Oh, I apologize. I wasn’t aware that you were, uh, using this area,” she mumbled, averting her gaze as the pink of her Altean markings almost seemed to glow against her cheeks.

Lance jumped to his feet, leaving Keith’s skin cold without his heated touch. “What? No! We weren’t doing anything -- I mean, I was just making sure that Keith was okay. You know, training issues and stuff,” Lance stumbled, lithe fingers dancing in front of him as blush tinted the tips of his ears and stained the back of his neck.

Bitterness like a slap to the face settled in Keith’s stomach. What had he just been saying? Had he seriously been a second away from telling Lance he loved him?

He didn’t know whether to thank Allura or curse her for her timing.

Lance scratched at the back of his neck, chin tipped upwards as if to hide the climbing flush on his cheeks. He laughed halfheartedly, clearly embarrassed and refusing to turn back and meet Keith’s gaze.

Of course, Keith knew why Lance reacted that way. He didn’t need to be a genius to see it. Because if it wasn’t Hunk, it was Allura. Lance was always attracted to the heart, the softness and bravery that was so inherent in Allura and Hunk.

It was everything Keith wasn’t: all rough edges and brashness.

He thought he was familiar with watching Lance love another, but the ache in his heart protested otherwise. What was he thinking? That he would return to his Lance and he would become _his_ Lance -- _Keith’s_ Lance?

He had to stop living in these delusions, because he was going to get hurt hoping for things not meant for him.

Standing up, Keith dusted off his knees and picked his jacket up off the floor. Keith gaze a weak smile to Lance and said, “Thanks for letting me train, Lance. See ya, Allura.”

He walked out of the training room without another word. Without turning back.

His mind was fixated on the way Lance refused to meet his gaze, the way he’d pulled away and protested Keith’s words -- as if he couldn’t believe Keith was saying that, because here, they were barely friends. And everything Keith had gone through didn’t mean that he’d earned Lance’s love; Lance wasn’t a fucking prize to be won.

With a frustrated growl, he leaned against the wall in a hallway, knees weakening and fists trembling by his sides. He could still feel the warmth of Lance’s arms around him, the way his chest jumped with a gasp under Keith’s palms, the scent of vanilla and cedar and maple syrup from their breakfast. Every fiber of his being was alight with the remnants of Lance’s touch.

And right now, he wanted nothing more than to be rid of it. Because why should he hold onto something else he couldn’t have? Wasn’t he used to letting go by now?

He marched into the showers as his mind fought off the memory of Lance’s bashful expression after having been caught with Keith -- by Allura, the girl Lance was in love with, the girl he had been flirting with and crushing on since their first day in the castle.

Without hesitation, Keith stepped into the spray of shower with his clothes on, allowing the warm water to wash away the lingering heat of Lance’s touch.

The water saturated his clothes, suctioning them to his body and pulling heavily against his thin limbs. Squeezing his eyes closed, he could imagine that he was somewhere else.

Sinking to the floor, Keith leaned against the shower wall and closed his eyes. The soft patter of the water lulled him to sleep like the lazy currents of the ocean, so distantly familiar like remembered deja vu.

  


**~~~~**

  


“Keith!” Shiro’s voice was a splinter of panic through his dreamless sleep.

Keith jolted awake and gazed up at Shiro. The black paladin stood over him, brow furrowed in concern while water dripped down his fluff of white hair and his cheeks.

“Shiro, what --”

“Did you pass out? Are you alright?” Shiro’s words were rushed, hands fluttering over Keith as if searching for injuries.

Keith groaned, realizing that he was still sitting in the shower -- in his clothes, soaked and pooling around him with waterlogged sems. The water was still running, sending spirals of steam into the air and soaking Shiro’s shoulders. The heat of the shower flushed Shiro’s skin to a light pink in seconds as he dug his fingers into Keith’s shoulders, ready to shake him for answers.

“What happened?!”

“I’m fine,” Keith sighed, but he couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his tone. Shrugging, he pushed Shiro’s hands off him.

All he could think of was Jowangshin’s Shiro, so light and reminiscent of his Shiro before the Kerberos mission. Or the Shiro that wished he could take all of Keith’s pain in a damp forest as the zombie plague threatened to ravish Keith’s mind. And he was desperate for that kind of support, the unwavering loyalty that strove to protect him even while Keith broke out of the dungeon and left Shiro unconscious in a weapons closet.

The kind of support that had gotten him through the Garrison. The kind he saw buried beneath the panic in Shiro’s eyes.

“Just -- just got a little heated during training.” Keith dropped his gaze to his lap, fingerings curling into the hems of his clothes and squeezing out the water. He couldn’t meet Shiro’s gaze, so sure that the instant he did, his best friend could pick truth from lie.

He gritted his teeth, ready for tears to gather in his eyes and drip undetected down his cheeks.

A voice that sounded so much like Jowangshin pleaded in his mind that maybe Shiro didn’t need to know all of it. Maybe Keith could just tell him a fraction of the past months and the deep imprints they left.

That maybe he didn’t have to carry this heavy burden alone.

Shaking his head, Keith cursed under his breath. He released the tight grip on his clothes and watched the water slowly soak back into the fabric. “Sorry. That -- that was a lie. I just --” he gazed up at Shiro, meeting those gunmetal eyes and immediately melting under their blatant concern and worry, “-- I like Lance.”

Those words couldn’t encapsulate his feelings, but Keith refused to confess the depths of his affection to someone other than Lance -- not that he was ever going to confess after what he’d witnessed earlier.

“I understa -- wait, what?” Shiro shook his head as if trying to hear Keith correctly. His hands fell back to his sides as his brow furrowed with thought. “You like Lance? Like you have a crush on him?”

Keith could only nod in response, thanking the warmth of the shower for concealing his blush.

“And that’s why you’re in the shower?”

Keith shrugged, teeth clenched too tightly to speak.

Shiro ran a hand through his soaked bangs, peeling them off his forehead and pinning them back against his scalp. “When did this happen?” he asked, and Keith tried to ignore the small hurt that sounded in Shiro’s voice.

“I don’t know. I just kind of realized it one day after we almost kissed -- I mean, I dreamed of us almost kissing,” Keith quickly spit, voice rising in volume and echoing in the shower room. “I -- I didn’t realize how much he meant to me until that, uh, that dream.”

Keith wanted to look away from the shit-eating grin that curled on Shiro’s face, but instead he allowed himself to enjoy these little moments with his best friend, the moments he sorely missed since before Kerberos.

Crossing his arms, Keith couldn’t help but continue; the feeling of venting his frustrations quickly became addictive. “Earlier in the training room, Lance was helping me up, and the second Allura walked in, he acted like I had burned him or something. I know that he likes her, but it still kind of,” he swallowed harshly against the unexpected tears that threatened to fall, “hurts, you know?”

“I’m sorry, Keith.” Shiro ruffled his hair, wicking water off the long strands. “That’s never an easy position to be in.”

Shiro’s lips parted to say more, but Keith had broken a dam, and he was powerless to stop the words, the overwhelming feelings, that welled in his heart.

“He’s just so much more than I expected. Like when I first met him, I thought he was the most obnoxious person I’d ever met.”

“I could tell,” Shiro chuckled, but Keith barely noticed, too fixated on the giddiness filling his lungs and the weight lifting off his heart.

“I mean, he didn’t know how to shut up for a single second. I, uh, I don’t know when I started to like the way he filled silences. And he’s so caring and compassionate that even though we always fight -- I know he would take a bullet for me, you know?” Keith swallowed back the tears that welled in his eyes as he remembered the first days in the time loop: Lance continually sacrificing himself for Keith’s sake. The weight of his dead body had become ingrained in his memory.

Shiro merely hummed, shifting so that he could sit on the floor, legs twining with Keith’s and back pressed against the opposite shower wall. The soft patter of the shower drew his bangs back over his forehead, one strand at a time.

“And I thought all of his stories were bullshit and bravado, but he’s surprisingly funny. Is that just because I like him or is he genuinely funny?”

“He’s pretty funny,” Shiro mused softly, giving Keith all that he needed to continue rambling.

Keith turned his face towards the water, squeezing his eyes closed. Each word he spoke felt like euphoria, helium humming in his veins and relieving some of the weight that settled on his shoulders. “Oh, and I fucking hated all of the lady-killer shit he’d always put on. I think I still hate it.”

“Maybe you’d like it if it was direct at you,” Shiro chuckled, but a second later, he felt Shiro’s legs tense up against his.

Keith cringed at the comment, because Shiro was right. If Lance was using all his pick-up lines and jokes on Keith, he would probably blush and stutter like a middle school girl. But the point was that it wasn’t directed towards him.

“But, uh, if it makes you feel better,” Shiro’s tentative voice made Keith turn and meet his gaze. Scratching at the back of his neck, Shiro’s cheeks colored a slight flush from the heat of the shower. “Allura and I are kind of a thing, so it means Lance is available if you wanted to try something.”

Keith leaned forward and slapped Shiro’s shoulder as a joyous smile bloomed on his face. Even in the wake of everything that had happened, Keith couldn’t stop the happiness that bubbled in his stomach at the news. “You and Allura?! Shiro, why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about Lance earlier?” Shiro raised an eyebrow.

Keith slumped further against the wall and crossed his arms, immediately cringing at the wet sensation of his jacket pulling across his chest. “It was a recent development,” Keith mumbled, watching Shiro’s face pique with interested.

But it wasn’t that recent was it?

Keith just didn’t realize that Lance had stolen his heart piece by piece with every spoken word in that small windowsill. Didn’t realize he had willingly given his heart to Lance until the world stole him and carved a wound of loss the same size as his carefully cultivated feelings.

Rather than dwell on the ache that still beat en tandem with his heart, Keith focused on the definite blush that darkened Shiro’s cheeks. It had been too long since they’d talked about something so inconsequential to intergalactic peace.

“But you and Allura,” Keith challenged with a smirk, enjoying every bashful fluctuation of Shiro’s features, “that doesn’t sound new.”

“Well, you know before you left, she was helping me out.”

Shiro didn’t need to enunciate what he meant by Allura ‘helping him out,’ because Keith had already witnessed it. How when Allura looked exhausted, hair a touch wilder and the bags under her eyes a little darker, Shiro looked vibrant and so full of enthusiasm. How Keith saw Shiro less and less in the kitchen in the thick of the night, rather hearing soft, padding footsteps leading down the halls to Allura’s room.

They had both been through so much: Shiro’s imprisonment, the destruction of Altea, the loss of Allura’s people. They were both fixated on their leadership roles, always hesitant to display any other emotion besides strength. It was like they believed they had to hold their corner of the universe together through sheer willpower and determination.

Keith knew about their late night conversations; he just wasn’t sure when it had progressed to something more.

“And when you left,” Shiro’s face constricted over the wording of Keith’s extended cryopod stay, but he continued, “she helped me through that too. I -- I was really worried, Keith.” Shiro’s voice was tight, and when Keith met his best friend’s gaze, he saw tears glinting in those gunmetal eyes.

Keith clenched a fist against his heart. “I know.”

“I was so worried, and we had no idea what was going on. I could barely think beyond you and that cryopod and that goddamn alarm,” Shiro shook his head, threading the fingers of his human hand through his hair. His next words were so mumbled that Keith knew he wasn’t supposed to hear them, “I still hear it every fucking morning, and I can’t --”

“Shiro,” Keith spoke, cutting off his best friend when his words were too constricted. Leaning forward, Keith placed a gentle hand on Shiro’s elbow and forced him to draw his hand out of his hair.

Slumping back against the wall, Shiro gave Keith a halfhearted smile, so weak that Keith’s heart constricted in empathy. “Sorry, I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

It was an excuse Keith had heard too many times to ignore the subtext: ‘The nightmares kept me from sleeping’ or ‘I was too haunted to even try to sleep.’

“But Allura was there through it all. _Is_ always there.”

Shiro’s hand fell to his side, and that tormented expression faded into something more peaceful as he turned his gaze back to Keith.

“I knew I liked her even before she started helping me out.” Shiro bit his lip, tilting his head back to look up into the shifting steam. “Not to sound like I’m comparing my relationships, but she’s so like Adam in the best of ways.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t sure I would find love after him, you know?”

Oh yes, Keith knew. He remembered that night when he went to Shiro’s and Adam’s apartment on base, only for Adam to point him in Shiro’s direction with a glass of scotch and bloodshot eyes.

Even without Adam’s directions, Keith would’ve found Shiro. It was the spot where Shiro found Keith after every detention and write-up. Shiro was on the roof of the Garrison, perched on the edge and feet swinging over the side. With his head tipped back, darkness settled into his features from the shadows cast by the flood lights positioned on every corner of the Garrison.

Keith sat next to him, uniform jacket pulled taught across his chest as he glanced up at the night sky. The stars were dulled with all of the light pollution. But Keith could remember the day they’d first driven the hoverbikes out into the middle of the desert. The sunset had colored the sands in the deepest shade of red Keith had ever seen, and it was the first moment Keith felt like he could trust Shiro. The weight of his father’s death and his aunt’s abandonment still sat heavily on his chest.

“Shitty night for stargazing,” Keith commented, breaking the comfortable silence between them. “And it’s cloudy.”

“Keith,” Shiro sighed, sounding so much more tired than Keith could remember.

“Adam doesn’t want you to go?” Keith asked, swallowing the end of the sentence: _Adam doesn’t want you to go either? Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t leave me like they all did. Don’t go._

Shiro slumped forward, shoulders hunching and looking so much smaller than a man of his stature should. “Keith, it’s past curfew. You should --”

“Shiro,” Keith cut him off, gaze never leaving the stars. But out of the corner of his eye, he watched Shiro jump with the harshness of his tone. “Can we cut it with all the mentor-mentee shit please? Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“He said it was either him or space. That he wouldn’t be waiting for me if I left again, especially with -- with my disease.” Shiro’s hand wrapped around his wrist, clamping onto the bracelets that he wore. “But--but I couldn’t -- it’s my dream.”

Keith hummed in response, fingers curling against the roof as the rough texture dug into his skin. He couldn’t speak without the threat of every desperate plea flying from his lips: _Don’t leave me. I’ll be here when you get back, so please just come back. Don’t go._

“You’ve never been up there have you?”

“No,” Keith breathed, eyes tracing the constellations and the far reaches that Shiro had traveled to.

Shiro exhaled like the edges of a dream. “It’s nothing like the simulator. It’s like comparing real life to CGI from the 80s.”

“2080?”

“1980s.”

“Oh my god,” Keith huffed a laugh.

Shiro leaned back, laying back against the roof and lacing his hands under his head. His feet kicked with a steady rhythm over the edge of the roof. Silence settled between them as they gazed at the faded stars.

Shiro’s voice was a whisper as he spoke, “It’s like something is calling me to go back, and as much as I want to stay with Adam, I _need_ to go back.”

“I’ll be waiting for you,” Keith said just as softly. “When you get back.”

“Keith --”

“You’re like my brother, Shiro. I’ll be here.” Keith bit off the bitter end to his sentence: _like family should be, so just please come back_.

Shiro turned his head to face Keith, his small smile glinting in the bright lights. “Maybe when I get back, you’ll finally have beaten my score on the simulator!”

But Shiro hadn’t come back -- at least not when he was supposed to, not how he was supposed to. And Keith hadn’t beaten Shiro’s score on the simulator, instead he’d been following anything that lead him away from the Garrison.

Keith glanced up at Shiro across from him in the small communal shower in the Castle of Lions. Shiro had come back to him.

And for the first time, Keith had left someone. He almost couldn’t think about what Shiro had been through, because it ached too similarly to the age-old wounds on his heart.

But now Shiro was smiling, because he hadn’t been alone -- he didn’t have to weather this loss alone.

Keith wanted to run from the shower and sweep Allura into a hug and thank her a million times over. But then he remembered Lance’s bashful expression and delicate blush, and his stomach soured.

“I know I wasn’t the best partner to him either,” Shiro spoke with a wistful expression on his face as he thought of his ex-fiancé. “And I have so many regrets about how everything played out between us.”

Shiro’s gaze dropped from the ceiling back to Keith, and a shiver coursed over his skin even in the warmth of the shower. Because this was the same expression Keith grew up with: the carefree, lovesick expression of his best friend.

“I know,” Keith mumbled. “Adam and I didn’t really talk after the Kerberos mission. I think we both blamed ourselves for different reasons -- not that I was at the Garrison for much longer after you left,” Keith shrugged, watching the way the news played out across Shiro’s features. His brow furrowed as he nodded slowly, absorbing each bit of information.

Keith nodded slowly, forcibly suppressing the emotions from fluttering across his features. He could still remember the heaviness of Adam’s hand on his shoulder at Shiro’s funeral. It was less than week after he’d been kicked out of the Garrison. His suit was wrinkled and covered in sand from his trek across the desert, and his hair was greasy because he still hadn’t gotten the outdoor shower working in his small shack. But he’d shown up.

Adam stood next to him the entire time, a steady presence that Keith didn’t know he needed.

And when the ceremony ended, Adam tried to speak to him, wearing an expression crafted of worry and guilt. But Keith avoided him, easily separated by the crowd of people that came to give their condolences to Shiro’s parents and his fiancé.

After that, Keith only caught a glimpse of Adam on the night he rescued Shiro. Adam was running from Shiro’s tent to investigate the explosions Keith set up as a diversion. He thought about sending a notice to Adam that Shiro was safe, but there was no way to ensure it would be secure from the Garrison -- especially after what they’d tried to do to Shiro.

And in a day’s time, they were galavanting through space and enlisted in a 10,000 year old war.

“I tried to apologize, did I tell you that?” Shiro huffed, slumping even further back against the wall. “We contacted Earth not long after you went into the cryopod. But Adam didn’t want to speak to me. But I understand. I’ve been gone for almost three years, and he’s moved on.”

“But it still sucks, right?”

Shiro’s smile was weak as he tapped his foot against Keith’s. “Yeah, it still sucks. But I got to talk to Veronica, and she told me that she met Adam’s husband. Her exact words were ‘they’re so cute I want to puke,’--”

Keith huffed a laugh, picturing Veronica’s tone and her scrunched expression as she said that.

“--so I’m glad that he’s happy. He--he deserves to be happy,” Shiro finished.

Their silence was heavy, dense like the humidity in the air from the steaming shower.

“But Allura?” Keith directed, so anxious to see that innocent gaze back on his best friend’s features.

“Well, I kind of thought I’d ruined my lovelife forever after Adam and I broke up, but Allura came along and I felt like I was in middle school again.” Shiro’s expression was something so giddy, so lovestruck that Keith couldn’t fight his own smile. “I was awed by everything she did: how she led us fearlessly even while dealing with the enormous grief of losing her planet and people. That even with all that loss, she was still so compassionate to everyone.”

And Keith wanted to debate that point, remembering the night she found out he was part Galra. But he couldn’t forget how only several days later, Allura had apologized for her actions, so ready to accept him and extend this compassion to the people who had taken everything from her.

Shiro sighed, a soft smile on his face in this delicate space they built in a shower stall. “I feel like I don’t deserve someone like her. She’s literally an alien princess, Keith.”

“And you’re her knight in shining armor,” Keith joked, tapping his foot against Shiro’s and returning that gentle smile. “You are the black paladin, you know?”

Shiro chuckled at that, cheeks blushing a deeper shade of pink. “So what does that make you and Lance?”

Tapping a finger on his chin, Keith pretended to debate, but he knew the answer immediately. It was the answer he found in the depths of a forest, riddled with corpses and the taste of blood.

“Star-crossed lovers,” Keith chuckled, ignoring the way his heart tightened and threatened to stop beating at the sheer ache of the impossibility of it all.

Shiro slapped a hand against Keith’s shoulder, pulling his mind from the way destiny had dragged him through a thousand stories where he got to save the prince, but never once was he rewarded with everlasting love. Rather he was sent on another quest, and another, and another.

Could they even be considered star-crossed lovers if Keith’s feelings were unrequited?

“You’re more like Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet. Helplessly pinning idiots,” Shiro chuckled, tilting his head under the spray of the water with a soft hum.

And Keith didn’t ask what that meant, too afraid of the answer. Instead he settled back against the shower wall with a soft sigh, willing this fragile moment of peace to never end.

He wasn’t sure what it was about their gathering in the shower, wet clothes clinging to their body and the steam of the hot water curling around them. Was it the soft patter of the water? Was it the knowledge that no one could hear them? Was it the comforting warmth and the intimacy of speaking in such a place?

Well no matter what it was, it was so safe that Keith never wanted to leave, never wanted to shut the water off.

But eventually, their limbs ached from the tile floor and the water dimmed to a muted heat, draining the comfort of the small stall. They both rose to their feet, bundling in towels and sharing soft smiles before tracking wet footprints through the hallways and to their rooms.

And that night when Keith curled in his blankets to fall asleep, his heart did feel a little lighter.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is the majority of this chapter just Keith waxing poetic about Lance in every possible way? Why yes, yes it is!
> 
> Hmm did Shiro and Allura both ask Pidge to silence the alarm in chapter 53? I can’t seem to remember? ψ( •̀ᴗ•́ )و ̑̑
> 
> So I really wanted to make Shiro bi and in a heterosexual relationship -- like I love Shallura, don’t get me wrong, but I’m bi and in a heterosexual relationship and the hate that sometimes persists in the LGBTQ community regarding bi people in straight relationships really gets to me sometimes. Like it doesn’t make me or anyone else less bi to be in a straight relationship, being bi and in a gay relationship doesn’t make anyone less bi. So yeah, I love Gay!Shiro, but I wanted to put a little of myself into this piece. So I hope you enjoy Bi!Shiro!! ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊˚
> 
> I also hope you liked the talk with Keith in the shower. It was one of my favorite recovery scenes to write!
> 
> A special thanks to everyone who leaves kudos and comments! The inspiration really keeps me going to produce something I'm proud of!! Σ>―(〃°ω°〃)♡→


	58. You Have Bewitched Me (body and soul)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the major delay in posting! I was really struggling with the chapter, and it still feels a little disjointed in my opinion, but I hope you all like it!! ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊˚
> 
> I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who commented last chapter and the overwhelming support of Bi!Shiro. It really made me so so happy to get a reception like that, so I hope you enjoy that topic and this entire fic going forward!!
> 
> The chapter title is from Pride and Prejudice (2005) ♡

Keith almost wished he hadn’t told Shiro about his feelings for Lance -- almost.

Everyday Shiro would give him a small smile, a knowing one that found him whenever his eyes lingered on Lance for a little too long. It was like they were sharing a secret so worth telling, and Shiro could barely keep his lips sealed.

By the way that Allura’s gaze also began to follow him, eyes alight and so akin to curiosity, Keith was sure that Shiro had let the secret spill to Allura. But in the small moments Keith witnessed between Shiro and Allura -- the softness and gentle air that surrounded them -- Keith couldn’t be upset.

However, when Lance was on “Keith watching duty” their smiles turned to something mischievous, and Keith couldn’t help but grit his teeth.

But everything felt so strikingly normal. All this playfulness and joking felt so inconsequential in the tide of the war and the memories that haunted Keith’s dreams. It was a sensation he was quickly becoming addicted to.

Normalcy.

How it felt normal to wake with his sheets twisted around his body and to the metallic scent of the castle. How it felt normal to eat food from Earth around the table while everyone joked and Lance’s spun stories so delicately between his lithe fingers. How it felt normal to wake to a new day every morning.

But every night he seemed to sleep less. His fingers always tapped anxiously against his thighs as if searching for scales or a crowbar or sparks at his fingertips. Otherwise, his fingers were clamped between his teeth, biting at the skin and the nails in a mockery of the hunger that lingered on his tongue after too realistic dreams.

Even Red’s comforting purr in the back of his mind did little to help him sleep.

He knew that he looked worse. And he knew that his teammates had noticed.

The bags under his eyes looked like bruises, pulling on his eyelashes and turning down the corners of his lips. The color of his skin was so sickly, Keith was worried Shiro would force him into the cryopod without his consent. And somehow, he felt weaker with each passing day -- not physically, his muscles were slowly building with each training session and each meal; but his mind felt more fragile with each passing day as if the weight of the memories only grew.

He looked like death. His teammates had noticed. They weren’t going to stay quiet about it for much longer.

Strangely, Pidge barely seemed to have time for him, coming hours late to her Keith-babysitting shift with her cracked lips still worried between her teeth. Whenever she wasn’t forced to spend time with them, she was at her computer or mumbling about Slav. Keith had caught her alone in the living room or in her bedroom with all the lights turned off; her features were only illuminated by the light of her screen, casting her skin in a sickly pallor.

When Hunk was on Keith-watching duty, Keith asked what was happening with Pidge. Hunk was fiddling with the old coffee maker Dr. Holt had sent from Earth. Keith was “helping” -- honestly, he was handing Hunk the wrong tool seven times out of ten and providing dull conversation. Hunk kept mumbling to himself about how it was 2115 and the Garrison was a multimillion dollar facility: couldn’t send the Paladins of Voltron a better coffee maker?

“Is everything okay with Pidge?” Keith asked, fingers fumbling with one of the screwdrivers and watching Hunk out of the corner of his eye. “She’s been a little, uh, stressed these past few days.”

Hunk had shrugged off Keith’s question, eyes still fixated on the coffee maker. “She’s gotten herself a new project.”

His answer was too sharp, too concise for how Hunk normally rambled about topics, so Keith knew Hunk was just trying to avoid the conversation. And the fact that Hunk was reluctant to gossip about this topic meant that it was either personal to Pidge or about Keith.

So he didn’t push it.

  


**~~~~**

  


A soft knock at the door brought Keith out of his hazy sumber.

Earlier, he somehow managed to fall back asleep after a nightmare -- all gnashing teeth and the stench of mutt and the blood that matted Lance’s fur. Wrapping the blanket tightly around him, Keith had focused solely on the gentle touch of Red at the back of his mind and had miraculously fallen back asleep.

Groggily rubbing at his eyes, Keith mumbled a, “Yeah?” that was more of a groan than English.

Sitting up, Keith watched his bedroom door slide open to reveal Shiro standing in his doorway. He stepped through the threshold, letting the door close behind him. Shiro smiled, but there was a heaviness to his gaze as it settled on Keith’s features, the sunkenness of his eyes and the shakiness to his fingertips.

“Morning, sleepy head,” Shiro said softly. “You slept through breakfast, and I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“You know you could’ve,” Keith groaned, slipping out of bed and cracking his back with a stretch.

“I thought I would let you get your sleep.” _You look like you need it_ went unsaid. But even without that caveat, the gravity in Shiro’s words was almost too much for Keith. It was the same worry that undercut all of their conversations -- a living, breathing thing that existed between them.

Settling his gaze on his closet, Keith refused to meet those gunmetal eyes as he grabbed a fresh set of clothes off the rack. Keith struggled to shrug off the weight of Shiro’s concern, “Thanks, I guess.”

“Keith --”

“I’m really okay, Shiro. I’m not fifteen anymore, I know how to take care of myself.” Keith fought a grimace as he glanced up at Shiro and smiled. He hoped the small grin would diminish the harshness to his words and the flicker of hurt he saw on Shiro’s features.

Because they both knew that this wasn’t about something that simple.

Shiro nodded, turning on his heel and stepping back into the hallway. There was a smirk on Shiro’s face as he said, “Of course, Keith. But I did see all of those Top Ramen wrappers in your shack, so you might want to reconsider what ‘taking care of yourself’ really means.”

“You can’t cook either,” Keith chuckled, shaking his head.

Shiro shrugged as if it was a mute point in this argument. Stepping through the threshold and into the hallway, Shiro paused and turned to face Keith, “Oh, Hunk wrapped up some breakfast for you. It’s in the fridge.”

And with a small wave, Shiro was gone. Keith felt the weight of their conversation slip off his shoulders with a sigh of relief. Even as playfully as they danced around these topics, Keith still got the message: take better care of yourself.

But it wasn’t for lack of trying.

When he stepped out of his room again, Pidge was loitering in the hallway, thumbs tapping away on her phone screen and eyebrows furrowed. Keith wondered if Shiro had sent her after their delicate conversation -- to watch out for him and make sure that he ate or something. Maybe Keith-babysitting duty was starting early today?

At the sound of his exit, she glanced up and smiled.

“Oh, Keith!”

“Yeah?”

“I’m making a list for my dad,” she spoke as she turned her attention back to the orange screen of her phone. “He’s going to send another shipment from Earth soon, so I’m putting in all of our requests. Want anything specific?”

Keith almost laughed at his immediate thought: alcohol, something strong that could knock him on his ass with a couple of sips.

The only alcohol he ever tried was the dredges from a bottle of moonshine he found in his shack; the bottle was hidden in the back of the cabinets and covered in such a thick layer of dust that Keith sneezed when he brushed off the label. But thinking back on it, all he could remember other than the burning taste was the way he’d forgotten everything from that night -- the peace of his dreamless sleep when every part of him cried for Shiro.

It was a peace he was so desperately longing for now.

“I can’t really think of anything.” Keith shrugged, burying his hands in his pockets and making his way down the hallway toward the kitchen.

Pidge fell into step with him, eyes still fixed on her phone. “It’s okay if it’s dumb, you know? Like Lance always asks for this one kind of candle, and Hunk requested leftovers from his moms’ cooking even though he knows it won’t last long. Not to mention, Allura and Shiro, who pretty much ask for a library with every shipment. So really, whatever you want is fine.”

Her eyes glanced up from her phone, piercing him with her perceptiveness.

“What do you ask for?”

“The newest video games.” She smirked, proud of her answer. With the tilt of her head, her lips twisted into a humored curl. “Coran is happy with any sort of ‘Earth Toy.’ Last time, my dad sent a bunch of Legos, and I don’t think Coran stopped talking about them for weeks. _Weeks_ , Keith.”

Laughter bubbled in Keith’s chest at the sight of Pidge’s amusement. He could easily picture Coran’s room scattered with Legos as he tried to follow the directions. Mirthful distractions weren’t easy to come by in space.

Pidge’s shoulder bumped with his, pulling him out of his thoughts. “So whatever you want to ask for is okay.”

Tipping his head back, Keith sighed and asked, “Can I have a handle of rum --”

“Really, Keith?”

“And a copy of _Twilight_?”

Pidge’s cackle of laughter echoed down the hall, but Keith couldn’t begin to regret his choice. Glancing down at her, she typed his requests into her phone with a glowing smile.

It’s been so long since he read _Twilight_. Talking with the Lance, born of forest and the undead, had reminded him of the series. He knew he could find a distraction between the pages, allowing him to remember a simpler time -- when his father was still alive, curled on the couch in faded pajamas and opening his Christmas presents around their decorated cactus; sure it was unconventional, but that was how holiday traditions were built in the Kogane household.

“Why does Aunt Augusta think I like this kind of stuff?” Keith huffed as he hefted the book out of the wrapping paper. The paper fluttered to the floor, glinting off the lights with a pattern of stars and bright colors.

His father turned to face him, a mug of steaming coffee in his grasp. Settling on the arm of the couch, he plucked the book from Keith’s grasp, turning it over to examine it. His broad form almost didn’t fit perched on the couch. His shoulders were wide and well muscled from his firefighter training; Keith could remember a time not too long ago that he could sit atop those shoulders and feel like he was flying.

A moment of silence settled between them as the radio hummed with static Christmas songs.

“Well, kiddo, I guess she thinks you like happy endings.” His voice was a rasp, still recovering from the last fire he’d put out.

“I’m not a girl,” Keith grumbled, crossing his arms and sinking deeper into the couch. “This book’s for girls.”

His father ruffled his hair with calloused fingers, only serving to deepen his pout. “I love happy endings too,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard Keith’s complaint. “Even your mother liked them. Said there weren’t too many happy endings where she was from.”

Keith stiffened at the mention of his mother. His arms relaxed as his eyes turned upwards toward his father, catching the distance to his gaze and the softness of his features. Leaning forward, Keith wanted to pry, to ask questions, to learn so much more about the mother his dad barely mentioned.

“She would’ve liked something like this,” his dad sighed, flipping through the pages of the book with one hand. “Although, I think should would find the idea of vampires a little ridiculous. Aliens though, she liked those.”

Snatching the book out of his dad’s hand, Keith clutched it to his chest with delicate fingers. “I’ll read it --”

“Keith,” his dad said with a knowing look to his eyes.

“I’ll read it,” he stated, before turning his head to the side and mumbling, “Even if Aunt Augusta thinks I’m a girl.”

His father tipped his head back with a hearty chuckle at Keith’s disgruntled declaration. The softness to his features remained as he looked back at Keith.

That was one of the last holidays they’d spent together. Looking back on it now, Keith felt so much fondness for the things he never thought would matter: the softness to his father’s features, the gentle comfort, the calloused nature of his fingers, the warmth of his childhood home -- the feeling of home.

With a sigh, Keith looked back down at Pidge walking beside him. Even if she told the others what he asked for, Keith didn’t think he would mind. Maybe he would get to see the mirthful expression Lance’s features once again, remembering how the others had laughed in a world that only demanded sacrifice.

Maybe with a little distraction, this would all be a little easier.

  


**~~~~**

  


He jumped from bed without thought, hands finding a comfortable fighting stance. But there was nothing in his darkening room but memories and the frantic pounding of his heart, echoing in his ears like thunder.

His hands slowly fell to his sides. Nothing was easier.

It had only been a couple days since Pidge gave her dad the requests, and the shipment wasn’t until the end of the month. But it didn’t seem to matter how Keith distracted himself. The memories were always waiting, ready to strike the moment he relaxed.

A muted purr resounded in the back of his mind as Keith pulled the blanket from his bed and huddled under the cloth. Squeezing his eyes closed, he listened to Red’s faint voice and the promise of distraction.

Without another word, he strode from his room -- heart still hammering over the soft sound of his footsteps.

Curling in the red lion’s pilot seat, Keith was wrapped in her glowing warmth. She purred louder in his mind, louder than the slowing beat of his thundering heart, louder than the memories writhing beneath his consciousness, louder than everything. Cradled in her warmth and comforting voice, Keith fell back to sleep.

  


**~~~~**

  


He’d taken to wandering the castle or sitting in Red’s cockpit after his nightmares jolted him awake. It was better to be caught standing in the darkened kitchen with distant eyes than to stay huddled in his room with only memories to haunt him.

  


**~~~~**

  


Keith had avoided training for a couple days after his fight with the gladiator. The buddy system was still in place -- the error message was almost deafening as it echoed in the hallways in the middle of the night. And he’d been a little reluctant to see Lance.

Keith was too afraid that his confession to Shiro would show on his features, that Lance could decipher his feelings from lingering glances and bashful smiles. Because so far Shiro had been anything but subtle.

But Lance had approached him with a wide smile, and Keith didn’t know how to say no.

“What’d’ya say, Kogane?” Lance was in a tank top that drooped so low on the sides, Keith could probably count all twelve of his ribs. The blue paladin balanced his bayard and several water pouches in his arms, all of which threatened to tumble out of his hold when he cocked his hip. “Ready for another training session?”

His smile was so bright, eyes like the ocean and laughter like pearls.

And Keith was so malleable in Lance’s hands -- even if it was like glorious torture to be in Lance’s presence, to horde all of his attention and yet feel so woefully unsatisfied by it. Because somehow, even after seeing Lance in ten universes, this wasn’t enough.

But it had to be _enough_.

Even if Keith didn’t want to admit it, the training session that followed had been so rewarding. His muscles felt stronger, and he was able to take down a level two gladiator within two minutes. And if his own success wasn’t enough, Lance’s encouragement made Keith’s lungs bubble with helium.

And somehow -- wonderfully, terribly, stupidly -- this became a routine for them.

Keith would battle the gladiator while Lance watched, eyes focused on the weakness of Keith’s limbs. Each day his body moved faster, responded to the blatant openings Keith saw from miles away. His muscles were sore with a gratifying ache.

After Keith threatened to fall over, Lance would step in, stopping him before he could collapse again. Every time that Lance steadied him with lithe fingers that seemed to sear through Keith’s clothes, Keith couldn’t help but lean into the touch. He would squeeze his eyes closed as his muscles throbbed with the effort of standing, and he could pretend that he’d earned Lance’s touch, earned Lance’s love through friendship rather than all of the atrocities he’d committed.

With a charming smile, Lance would pull away, leaving fingerprints of heat along Keith’s arms. Slapping a water pouch into Keith’s fingers, Lance would challenge the gladiator with his hip cocked and bayard poised on his shoulder. Every time, he mumbled the level under his breath so that Keith couldn’t catch it.

Leaning against the wall with his feet splayed out before him, Keith sipped his water and watched the fluidity of Lance’s movements, the accuracy of his shots, and the enthusiasm that colored every joyful exclamation.

In each of his movements, Keith could see the way Lance once summoned the ocean, pulled back the bowstring, swam so gracefully through the currents, and marched from the tree line with a growl and sharpened canines. It was like watching everything he loved about every Lance culminate in _his_ Lance (but not _his Lance_ ), pointing out things he’d barely noticed before this god forsaken time loop.

And after Lance won -- because of course he won -- he would turn to Keith. His fringe would be slick against his forehead with sweat and his smile would be so blinding that Keith couldn’t hope to look away.

“Beat that, Kogane!”

“Your footwork when retreating was sloppy,” Keith would mumble, turning his gaze back down to the water pouch to hide his blush. Because the only was Keith could hope to survive this routine was to fall into their comfortable banter.

Lance’s laugh would cut through the silence of the training room. “Alright, alright, Mr. Expert. How do you suggest I retreat then?” Lance smiled and pulled Keith back into their new familiar rhythm.

But no matter how hard he trained, Keith never had a dreamless sleep. No matter how far he pushed himself -- stumbling back to his room and vomiting in the bathroom without Lance’s knowledge -- the nightmares still commandeered his dreams.

Even Lance wasn’t enough of a distraction, too heavily tied to everything that haunted him.

  


**~~~~**

  


Keith felt like he was carrying around the phantom weight of Lance’s dead body. It was either slung across his shoulders as he stumbled out of bed or pulling at his arms as he sprinted from the dreams down the length of the darkened castle hallways.

It felt so real, branded into his strengthening muscles and seared into his mind -- a long forgotten failure that refused to die.

And yet, not matter how many times Pidge whispered in the back of his mind ( _“I won’t tell Allura if you won’t.”_ ), Keith still continued to train with Lance. Because Lance was a temptation he couldn’t hope to fight.

  


**~~~~**

  


Lance had somehow dragged him into another movie night, too tempting to refuse especially when Keith longed for any kind of distraction.

Except this time, they didn’t do face masks. Lance had just grabbed him by the wrist, a shackle of warm that Keith was bound to follow, and dragged him to the lounge. And Keith wasn’t sure how to ask for face masks without sounding desperate for the touch of Lance’s fingers. So instead, they were curled into the couch and watched the earliest performance of the Voltron show.

“Huh, I didn’t even know that Coran recorded this one,” Lance hummed to himself, dropping the remote to the cushion that sat between them. Turning his face into the pillow, Lance’s gaze fell on Keith -- not that Keith had already been looking, watching the way the light from the screen bounced off of the high points of Lance’s features, no, not at all.

“Really?” Keith choked out, desperate to say something while he drowned in those ocean eyes. “I thought Coran was all crazy about posterity. I mean, you’ve seen the Altean library.”

Lance smiled ruefully. “Yeah, but this was actually before the brain worm thing. I’m convinced he got it from one of the residents there, but he won’t confess where he bought it. He was actually worried that Allura would send the whole Coalition on a scouting mission for his worm dealer.”

Keith couldn’t fight the chuckle that resonated in his chest. At the sound of his laugh, Lance smile transformed into something soft -- so delicate that Keith’s heart constricted at the sight. He turned quickly to face the holoscreen so he wouldn’t have to feel the weight of those eyes, while his heart tore itself in two with longing and trepidation.

Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy? What the fuck was Shiro even thinking when he’d put that reference in Keith’s mind.

So rather than paying full attention to the trainwreck of a show they performed, Keith allowed his mind to wander into a painful daydream -- one too sweet to even exist in any memory.

Would Lance like to be called Mr. Kogane? Would he be truly happy to be Keith’s -- to be _his Lance_? Would he continue smiling so sweetly after Keith kissed him?

On the screen before him, Lance pranced on stage and outperformed every other paladin with his enthusiasm and brilliant smile. His dramatics grated against the other monotone voices and bland performances.

He was so bright in every universe -- like a star on the verge of a supernova.

Would Lance kiss like he had all those universes ago? Like meeting the sea at high tide, passion and ferocity with an undertow that threatened to drag Keith further into the ocean, to drown him in his feelings without mercy.

Shiro’s deadpan voice momentarily pulled Keith out of his fantasy of Lance’s lips as he snorted a laugh. The black paladin looked so awkward on that stage, glancing down at his notes and speaking with a stilted tone. It was like Shiro had never taught a class or spoken in front of hundreds of people, rather than the twenty that supposedly sat in the audience.

The residual heat of his daydream coiled in his stomach and hunger bubbled in his stomach, so Keith focused on the show playing before him rathering than slipping back into the memory he was referencing. Because that memory ended so unlike Pride and Prejudice -- it ended in blood and tears and the taste of gunpowder on his tongue.

In a sudden flash of silver, Coran slid out on stage wearing a wig that mimicked Allura’s hairstyle. It sat lopsided on Coran’s head, strands dipping into his mouth as he clasped his hands before and spouted off some dramatic line.

Keith leaned forward, jaw dropping before a bark of laughter shocked both him and Lance. Grabbing the remote that sat on the couch between them, Keith paused the video on Coran’s dramatic face. His laughter fizzled out of his lips, bubbling like carbonation in his lungs. It was an addictive feeling.

Turning to face Lance, Keith caught a shocked looked to his features, eyebrows set so high on his forehead they disappeared under his fringe.

“I know you said that Allura was playing me, but, oh my god, I didn’t think Coran would play Allura!” Keith was all giggles as he glanced back at the holoscreen, wishing to brand this image into his mind, rewrite the other images that plagued him.

Lance chuckled beside him, leaning back into the couch with a contented smile on features.

“Oh yeah. Allura was not happy about that. I’m pretty sure she called it a ‘inappropriate use of the fabricator.’”

Glancing out of the corner of his eyes, Keith caught sight of a blush darkening Lance’s cheeks. The laughter soured in his mouth like overripe fruit. It was such a bashful look on Lance’s features that Keith almost didn’t recognize it, even after ten universes.

“Nah, that’s the perfect use.”

“I agree,” Lance’s smile turned mischievous, “which is why Pidge and fabricated all of us wigs to wear to dinner the next day.”

Even if the chuckle tasted like rot, Keith couldn’t help it. He was so subject to Lance’s will.

After his laughter subsided, Keith pressed play to finish watching the rest of the recording. The show ended with so little fanfare that Keith almost didn’t realize it was over as the holoscreen jumped to black.

“That, uh, that was,” Keith said, struggling to hide his smile as he turned to face Lance.

Lance’s arms were crossed over his chest, and he was wearing this playfully irritated grin that had Keith’s heart racing in his chest. He thought this banter was supposed to be safe; he thought that this was a respite from the unrequited feelings that bombarded him.

“You can say it. It was terrible,” Lance grumbled. “The second one was much better.”

“If the first Voltron Show you showed me was the best, I’m not sure how much better the second one can be,” Keith mumbled, scratching at the back of his neck and diving into that familiar rapport.

Lance grabbed a pillow from the couch and flung it at Keith. “Shut up, Keith! Like you could’ve done any better.”

Catching the pillow, Keith threw it back at Lance with a little more force. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!” Lance snatched the pillow and held it to his chest. His smile grew feral as if he was ready to declare war. “I mean, Allura’s impression of you is so perfect that you’d look like a cheap imposter next to her.”

Keith grabbed a pillow of his own, unable to hold back the brilliant grin he could feel pulling at his features. “Prove it!” Keith dove forward, ready to declare war with a single pillow.

Whatever training they’d been doing seemed to really help with Keith’s endurance in their subsequent pillow fight. Even though his arms and legs were aching from their earlier session, he couldn’t fight the small joy he found in reclaiming some of his lost strength.

When they finally collapsed to the couch in a huff with laughter peeling from their lips, Lance turned to him and said, “You should go get snacks.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t possibly make it through the next show without sustenance.” Lance pulled the pillow to his face, speaking into it and muffling his words. “You’re right. It’s pretty terrible.”

“Why do I have to go?”

Keith crossed his arms and fought the instincts that demanded that he go. All of the instincts that he’d cultivated saving Lance all those months seemed to have a strange payoff in this relatively normal world. But even though he wanted to badly to help Lance, he’d be damned if he seemed enthusiastic about it.

“Because if you get caught by Shiro, I’ll seem like a good friend who’s just keeping you company. But if I get caught, I’m going to be ‘a bad influence,’ because ‘Keith needs to get his sleep.’” Pulling the pillow from his face, Lance pouted, slumping deeper into the couch. “So you go, because I don’t want to get in trouble.”

And Keith was so damn weak for this boy.

With a list of requests running through his mind, Keith walked down the dimly lit hallways, hands shoved deep into his pockets. It was silent all but for his stockinged footsteps that echoed softly -- until he heard Pidge’s voice angrily echoing down the hallway.

“I don’t care, Kolivan. Last time that I called, you said that Slav couldn’t come to the phone because he was too busy counting the number of bristles on his hair brush. He doesn’t even have hair! Put him on the damn phone!” Her voice was an animalistic snarl.

Her tone was so strangely reminiscent of the zombie universe that Keith shivered. He could almost feel the weight of her fist in his shirt when she’d grabbed him and snarled, “ _He can handle himself. Don’t make me threaten to leave you behind, Keith._ ”

“Whatever,” Pidge bit back. Derision dripped in her tone as she continued with a facetious lighter tone. “Tell Slave to give me a call when it’s convenient for him.”

Keith walked to her door, ready to knock and ask if she needed anything, but her growled voice cut him off.

“No, no that was fucking sarcasm! I will fly to your goddamn secret base right now, Kolivan! Oh my god, just have Slav call me, okay?” Pidge let out a shrill scream of annoyance before something clattered to the ground in her room.

Stepping back, Keith swallowed sharply, unaware of what he should do.

But he could remember the weight of Pidge’s around around him when he’d woken up in the zombie universe. How she had helped him hold onto the last shreds of his humanity.

So he knocked gently on her door.

It opened with a hiss as she rubbed at the back of her neck.

“Sorry, Hunk. I’ll keep it down --” she cut herself off when she glanced up and saw Keith standing there. “Oh, Keith. I, uh--”

“Everything okay?” He looked over her, noticing the ragged nature to her hair and darkened bags under her eyes. This was everything he’d been worried about when he had talked to Hunk earlier in the week.

Shrugging softly, Pidge chewed on her bottom lip before responding. “Slav’s supposed to help me with this project, but apparently _he’s too busy_.” Her tone was scathing sarcasm when she mentioned Slav’s reason for absence.

“Oh, that sucks.” Struggling for something comforting to say, Keith pointed over his shoulder and continued, “I was getting a midnight snack from the kitchen. Do you want anything?”

“Other than a way to make aliens understand sarcasm, I’m good.” Her smile was a little forced, but the tension had dissipated from her shoulders slightly.

Ruffling a hand through her hair, Keith gave her a warm smile. “Okay. Make sure to get some sleep.”

She nodded stiffly before Keith shrugged his shoulders and continued his quest for snacks.

When he finally got back to Lance with a bag of pretzels and the last of the Hershey’s kisses, Lance practically jumped up from the couch.

“Took you forever,” Lance mumbled taking the chocolate out of Keith’s hands.

“If you want to complain, you can get your own.” Keith attempted to snatch the kisses out of Lance’s hands, but the boy fell back onto the couch and out of Keith’s reach.

With a shit eating smile, Lance popped a kiss into his mouth and said, “Thank you so much for the snacks, Keith. When did you get so hospitable and charming?”

“Shut up.”

Lance’s laugh echoed off the walls, and Keith couldn’t help but smile as he settled into the couch, a little closer to Lance. Turning his face towards the holoscreen, Keith hoped that Lance wouldn’t see his blush.

  


**~~~~**

  


The next morning, Allura walked into breakfast with a troubled expression twisting her features. Her hair was braided over her shoulder, and she was in training clothes that looked unused. Placing her hands on her hips, she stood at the end of the table and waited to catch their attention.

Keith paused the spoonful of mixed fruit an inch from his lips -- it was a combination of the last of the rehydrated fruit from Earth and several delicous alien foods that they’d found along their journey.

It wasn’t long until everyone’s eyes fixed on Allura.

“First, I would like to apologize to all of you.” Her voice was curt, that even though her apology was truthful, she was irritated beyond her ability to sound sincere. “I kept you from Lotor due to the fact that I believed Shiro and myself to be the best negotiators. However, I can see my mistake in keeping you from the discussions.”

“Princess,” Lance began, but Allura cut him off by slamming her hands onto the table.

“He is simply infuriating, and I cannot get through to him at all.” She pulled back, crossing her arms and pacing in front of the table.

Keith glanced over at Shiro, unaware of how to deal with Allura when she wasn’t acting like a composed leader. It was almost refreshing to see her be so genuine with them.

Shiro’s brow was furrowed, and the spoon creaked in his metal hand, threatening to snap.

“If he mentions my father one more quiznaking time, I am afraid that I may kill him -- potential ally or not.” Allura threw her hands up and faced them once more.

Flinching at the sensitive topic, Keith watched the way the spoon crumbled in Shiro’s hand. The black paladin gazed at the table, relaxing his grip and watching the way the unusable utensil clattered against his plate.

“I thought he was supposed to be charismatic,” Hunk grumbled, eyebrows raised high on his forehead in surprised. Pidge and Lance stifled their laughter at Hunk’s comment.

Pidge elbowed Hunk, her lips turning into a mirthful smirk. “Yeah, even Lance is more charming than that.”

“Exactly!” Lance declared, crossing his arms before his eyes widened in shock at Pidge. “Hey, wait a minute!”

Keith couldn’t fight his smile at the soft flush that was darkening Lance’s cheeks. The blue paladin’s gaze darted between Hunk and Pidge, finally landing on Keith with his shocked expression ebbing to playfulness.

Leaning to the side, Keith bumped his shoulder with Lance’s, desperate for his warm and this camaraderie. So desperate for every distraction, every moment that kept his mind from wandering to the ache in his fingertips and the memories that fluctuated with every breath.

Allura huffed a deep breath, composing herself into the leader she thought she always needed to be. “So, I would like for your help in speaking with him, as I believe I am a little past negotiating at the moment.”

“Sounds perfect,” Lance purred, cracking his knuckles.

“We are not interrogating him, Lance,” Shiro’s voice was firm, but there was a spark in his eyes that belied some interest in the idea. Allura slipped into her seat beside Shiro, eyes darting to his spoon with a small, amused smile.

Shiro’s hand disappeared beneath the table, probably to rest against Allura’s knee in a intimate gesture of support.

“Whaaat? Really?” Lance drawled, laughter pulling at the back of his throat.

Allura smiled and shook her head at Lance’s dramatics. Leaning against the table, she propped her chin in her palm as the irritation seemed to dissipate from her posture; her shoulders relaxed and her gaze kept lingering on Shiro.

“Lance,” Allura sighed in a tone that was clearly meant to be reprimanding, but there was too much fondness to it.

“Princess.” Lance winked in response and the blush in his cheeks darkened.

Keith’s smile fluctuated, rotting in his stomach and reminding him of how quickly Lance had pulled away from him when Allura walked into the training room.

 _He’s not yours to take._ Keith reminded himself as he clenched his hands under the table, nails biting into his gloves when all he wanted was pain to steady him. _He’s not yours to earn, no matter what you’ve done -- especially with what you’ve done._

Keith felt the weight of Shiro’s gaze settle on him. When he glanced up from the table, he saw Shiro’s grin settle into a firm line across his features.

Quickly turning the tide of the conversation, Shiro turned to Allura. “What time did you want to go see Lotor?”

“Let’s wait until after breakfast,” she suggested.

“Yeah,” Pidge commented, chewing a bite of alien fruit. “I mean, it’s not like he’s going anywhere.”

Hunk choked out a laugh, and soon the rest of the table followed suit, lifting the strange tension that had settled over them. Keith couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting to Lance’s features, cheeks dimpling and eyes crinkling at the edges. And Keith felt his heart lift at the sight.

The rest of the meal followed that lighthearted tone, straying away from serious topics or the confrontation that awaited them.

After breakfast, they all followed Allura to the set of elevators in the center of the castle. Pressing her palm to the scanner next to the closing doors, Allura announced, “Level 1: containment cells,” to computer controlling the elevator. They quickly descended, all squeezed together in the confined space.

“I wonder what he looks like,” Keith mumbled, aware that he was the only one who hadn’t yet met Lotor.

Lance groaned. “He’s tragically handsome.”

Turning to face Lance, Keith realized how close they were in this cramped space. He could almost feel the heat of Lance’s body, the way their arms brushed as Lance crossed them. Hunching his shoulders and glowering, Lance met Keith’s wide-eyed gaze.

“He’s handsome, and it’s tragic because he’s a fucking prick.”

“Language,” Shiro mumbled under his breath with a sly smile. The reprimand had become a joke in their time in space, after they’d convinced Shiro that since they were fighting in an intergalactic war, they should be able to say fuck.

Lance twirled his fingers out in front of him, like he was trying to pull the ocean to his fingertips and let it bubble. But he was conjuring a story, that playful finessing tone, “Oh, sorry. He’s a goddamn, fucking asshole.”

Keith snorted a laugh, desperate to bump his shoulder with Lance’s in a show of support, but his body froze when the elevator came to a sudden stop.

The doors opened with a soft hiss, the group having gone quiet in anticipation of meeting the Galra prince.

A pale blue light shone from the containment cell that sat at the end of a floating pathway. The castle descended for floors below them in an open abyss that must have gone to the bottom of the ship by the way the lights seemed to flicker out of his sight before disappearing.

Was this room chillier than the kitchen or was it just the draft that dusted across his skin?

Seated in the cell, looking perfectly content, was Lotor. His skin looked so pale in this lighting, not the rosy lavender of most Galra. He was practically furless, probably due to his Altean lineage denoted so prominently by his silver hair and slim features; in some earlier conversation that Keith barely recalled, Allura had mentioned he was the son of an Altean alchemist by the name of Honevra.

Lotor’s eyes were critical, and Keith was all too familiar with that look. It was so reminiscent of the way Nyma had watched him in her nightgown with poison resting in her mouth or when she’d trailed poison so delicately up Lance’s arms.

He was the picture of leisure, legs crossed and foot bouncing with a steady beat. His smile curled so closely to genuine that Keith’s skin crawled. But the prince’s gaze narrowed on them as they marched towards his cell.

“Princess Allura, Shiro.” Lotor nodded to both of them, while pausing before his eyes scanned the group. “Paladins,” he said, gaze settling on Keith a little longer than the rest. “To what do I owe this privilege?”

“I wanted to discuss the terms of our alliance with my entire team present,” Allura began, stepping in front of the group and planting her arms on her hips. She looked the picture of royalty -- royally pissed off.

“A pleasure,” Lotor purred and nodded to them, eyes barely flickering away from Allura.

Allura’s grimace of a smile deepend. “Yes, a pleasure.”

Standing fluidly, Lotor walked to the edge of his cell, standing over most of them with his impressive height and the platform the cell sat on. He smiled as warmly as his face was able, strangely amicable despite the way it didn’t reach his eyes and the sharp points to his teeth.

“I am quite confident that Princess Allura has detailed all of my plans for the Galra Empire.” Lotor stood tall, lacing his hands behind his back and keeping his chin high even while looking down on them. “It is my impression that we share the same goal. My vision is to bring the empire into a time of peace without the need to destroy countless planets.”

Pidge scoffed, crossing her arms and not attempting to hide her contempt from Lotor.

The prince paused, eyes settling on the shortest paladin with a narrowed gaze. Tilting his head to the side, he nodded at her to voice her concerns.

“We don’t care about bringing peace to the _empire_. We care about the planets that the Galra have suppressed and destroyed. We care about the people you’ve abused for years!” Pidge’s hackles were definitely raised, on edge and furious for her father and her brother and her leaders.

Keith’s gaze lingered on Shiro’s Galra-given arm, and he couldn’t stop the sneer that pulled at his lips.

“My father was a warmonger. He had no right to rule the Galra, let alone the majority of the universe.” Lotor’s tone was bitter, and it seemed to evident that he detested his father as much as the rest of the universe. “He relied on fear to control his people, but I want to build an atmosphere of trust. I had mentioned to Princess Allura that once our fathers--”

Allura cringed, eyes downcast and shoulder hunching at the mention of her father. Shiro took a step forward, placing his human hand on her shoulder as his gaze settled on Lotor.

“--once worked together for peace. In the distant past, my father allowed me to be the Galra representative on newly acquired planets, and I employed tactics mainly used by the Alteans when aiding people in need. Unfortunately, my father did not appreciate my perchance for peace.”

Allura’s head snapped up at the mention of her people. Her gaze was glossy, and she bit her lip between her teeth.

Lotor paused, gaze fixing on Allura. With parted lips, it seemed like he was going to say something, but he clamped his jaw shut and looked at the paladins.

“What--what did he do?” Hunk questioned, voice shaky as if he didn’t want to know the answer. “To those planets that you worked with?”

In an instant, Lotor’s posture became stiffer, so different from the relaxed confidence he was projecting before. His tone was ice as he spoke, “He punished them for my insubordination. And when I continued to stand up to him, he destroyed the planet in its entirety.”

Allura’s gasp was on the verge of a sob. Keith watched the way Shiro’s fingers tightened on her shoulder as if he was not only steadying her but himself.

Grinding his teeth, Keith squeezed his hands into fists at his sides. He knew the weight of death -- in his arms, against his conscience -- and he couldn’t imagine carrying the heft of entire planet.

“My father was a monster,” Lotor explained, eyes pleading with Allura to understand as if she held the key to his success. “When you defeated him, I celebrated your victory.”

Allura seemed to waver before them, whether it was the sway of her locked knees or the raw edges of all the information. Even though Shiro stood right next to her, Lance snarled at the way the prince pointed all of his declarations at Allura.

“How are you any different? You can give us all the ‘evidence’ you want, but it proves nothing.” Lance asked, voice a whispered growl as he took a single step forward.

Lotor’s gaze slid from the princess and settled on Lance. Keith felt the blue paladin stiffen next to him, shoulders rising and every muscle coiling.

The prince’s voice was a snarl as he spoke. “Rather than supporting my claim for the throne, you allowed Sendak to become the next emperor.”

Keith gasped at the information, glancing around at his teammates. No one could meet his eyes, gaze still fixated on Lotor -- pale and glowing in the lights from the containment cell. Had this been what they’d been alluding to during the battle of Naxzela? In every conversation revolving Lotor?

“That wasn’t--”

“Sendak is leveling cities and planets to satisfy his bloodlust. _He_ is no better than my father, dare I say worse, because he won’t be distracted with pursuing Voltron. And with the witch supporting him, I fear for this tenuous coalition you’ve built.” Lotor flipped tendrils of hair over his shoulder. He stood tall, but his chin dipped like the weight of the world was pressing on him, and strangely Keith could see himself in the very same motion: the distance to that gaze, the fogginess that betrayed so much more than what he alluded to.

“We were just supposed to support you based on your unsubstantiated ideals?” Pidge chimed in, arms tightening around her chest and jaw clenching until she spoke through gritted teeth.

The prince stood tall, shoulders squared and back straight, before sighing and returning to his seat on the small cot in the containment cell. Leaning backward, Lotor crossed his knees and laced his fingers overtop of his thighs.

“I see,” Lotor said, “Voltron would rather fight a battle it knows than take a risk for peace.”

“Peace?!” Pidge cried, stepping forward like a cannonball of fury and rage. “You expect us--”

“That’s enough.” Lotor jumped to his feet, towering over Pidge. Narrowing his gaze on her, she stepped back slightly, intimidated by his sudden overwhelming presence. “I have presented my facts to you countless times, yet you are determined not to hear a single word I speak. Before you leave, I ask you to consider how you’ve gained your allies thus far. You took a risk to trust the Blade of Marmora, but you cannot extend the same courtesy to another Galra simply because I am the son of a monster.”

Turning away sharply, Lotor stood with his back facing them, unwilling to say anything else. No matter what anyone yelled or threatened.

Keith stayed surprisingly silent, afraid of the familiar expression painting Lotor’s features.

“Come on, Keith,” Shiro’s voice was a quiet call from behind.

The rest of the team had already made their way to the elevator, knowing that there was no point in speaking with Lotor any further. He wasn’t going to reveal any more information. They either had to trust him or figure out what to do with a traitor to the coalition.

Keith could feel the weight of the fighter jet’s controls in his palms, the sweat that slicked his back, and the long-lost panic that rose in the face of death. He wanted to hate the prince that took his purpose away from him, that sent him spiraling in this universe, but he couldn’t fight the threadbear connection he felt -- so fragile, and yet Keith wanted to know exactly what it was made of.

After tearing his lingering gaze off the prince’s back, Keith followed his teammates.

  


**~~~~**

  


Lance fell face first on the couch with a stifled groan. “I literally hate him so much,” he said, voice muffled by the fabric of the lounge.

“I concur,” Pidge mimicked Lotor’s accident and posh dialect as she sat on the couch and propped her feet up on the coffee table.

With mumbles of agreement, everyone collapsed on the couch, eyes determinedly not meeting each other. Keith leaned against the far wall, bracing his foot against the metal paneling and crossing his arms. Lounging on the couch felt too intimate. Now he was all too aware that so much more had happened in his months of absence than he realized.

After a couple minutes of terse silence, Lance sat up with a small gasp. There was that familiar light in his eyes, and Keith was so relieved to see him looking a fraction closer to himself.

“So, my mom’s calling tomorrow. Any messages for Mama McClain?” Lance’s voice was chipper and excited and everything that Keith loved.

Keith allowed himself to be dragged into the brace of Lance’s joyful nature, to forget about everything that just happened. Dropping his arms to his sides, he stepped forward without thought, so effortlessly drawn to Lance.

Hunk didn’t move from his position on the couch, head tipped back and gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Oh, tell her that I’m planning on making the pastelitos recipe she sent me.” Lance made an excited sound in the back of his throat, and Hunk chuckled in response. “I’ll make it when Dr. Holt’s shipment finally comes in.”

“I told you it wouldn’t be for a couple of weeks, Hunk,” Pidge mumbled. “So don’t get Lance’s hopes up so soon.”

With a groan, Lance collapsed back on the couch. From his new position, his eyes landed on Keith standing halfway between the wall and the couch, face open and filled with so much longing that Keith couldn’t hope to hide.

Lance’s lips turned up in a small smirk, gaze tracing Keith’s features as he asked, “Anything you want to say to my family? You know Veronica’s going to ask about you right?”

“N-no, I--”

“What? You mean Keith got to talk to Veronica?” Hunk’s voice was a whine, and Lance’s posture shifted so that he wasn’t forced to look at Keith. “She’s so funny. She kind of makes me forget we’re out here, you know?”

“Yeah,” Lance sighed. “I know.”

Even though the conversation had drifted slightly and Hunk and Lance were on a tangent, Keith’s mind still swirled around Lance’s question. What would he say to the McClain family if he had the opportunity?

Veronica’s voice echoed in his mind, warm and brittle, _“Thank you for protecting him, Keith. He may be a self-sacrificing idiot, but he’s our idiot.”_

Clearing his throat, Keith stole Lance’s attention, cutting off whatever anecdote he’d been in the middle of.

“I--I, uh, I wanted to tell your family: cuidaremos de su hijo.” Coughing into his fist, Keith caught the shocked expression to Lance’s features as well as the blush settling in the apples of his cheeks. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Nodding sharply, Keith turned on a heel and marched out of the room. He almost didn’t hear the small commotion he left in his wake.

“Keith--”

“What did he say Lance?” Hunk’s voice was enthusiastic and eager as he cut Lance off.

“N-nothing! It was for my family, not for you guys.”

Shaking his head, Keith revealed in the relative silence of the hallway. With a sigh, he struggled to think of a distraction to occupy him until Lance inevitably found him for their training session.

Maybe Coran still needed help organizing the records room?

  


**~~~~**

  


The next time Keith dreamt it wasn’t of long distant memories.

His hands tightened against Lance’s wrists, pinning him to the cold floor of the training room. Sweat dotted his back, darkening the color of his black t-shirt, and his bangs stuck to his forehead. Shaking his hair out of his face, Keith smirked at Lance.

“Surrender,” Keith breathed, victory singing in his blood and gusting on his exhales.

“Fine, you win this round.” Lance rolled his eyes in a clear sign of exasperation, but the curl to his lips implied otherwise.

Despite his words, Lance bucked his hips in an attempt to knock Keith off his perch. But Keith’s smile widened as he kept Lance in place, forcing his hands back down to the training room floor.

They were closer now, noses barely touching and breathes mingling with every exhale.

Lance’s eyes fluttered up to meet his gaze. Brilliant, ocean blue.

And whatever playful tension had saturated the air was ignited. Everything was electric and full of potential, like the hum before a lightning strike. Keith barely breathed, afraid that the atmosphere would spark something inside of him he couldn’t quench.

Instinctively, he tightened his thighs around Lance’s torso.

Lance was so perfect beneath him, pilliable and willing with sweat dotting the edges of his hairline. His resistance to Keith’s hold relaxed, melting under his touch in a way that was addictive to watch. With each ragged breath, Keith could feel Lance’s chest rattle between his thighs.

Those ocean eyes dipped to Keith’s lips, lingering there for moment before darting back up to meet his gaze. But there was a steadiness to those eyes, and Keith couldn’t help but return the favor. Glancing down, he watched Lance pull his bottom lip between his teeth; either he was ashamed at being caught staring or he was fighting off a victorious smile.

He could kiss Lance right here -- taste the sweat on his lips and pull moans from the back of his throat.

Keith’s breath caught in his chest.

He could kiss Lance.

He knew what kissing Lance was like, knew the passion and the warmth and the unadulterated rightness -- knew how other Lances kissed, but he didn’t know his Lance, and god, he was so hungry to know everything about _his Lance_.

He could _kiss_ Lance.

His grip tightened on Lance’s wrists as he leaned forward, only to pause a breath away.

“Keith,” Lance whispered, a small plea.

Heaving a sigh, Keith pushed forward and captured Lance’s lips in a kiss. They tasted like the Hershey’s kisses they’d eaten and vanilla chapstick and the sweat from training and like everything Keith had ever desired. They tasted like the ocean and the sensation of a dream on the cusp of oblivion.

And Keith wanted so much more.

With the quick brush of his tongue, he begged for Lance to let him deepen the kiss. And with the softest moan -- one that Keith almost didn’t hear over the pounding of his own heart -- Lance parted his lips and allowed Keith to fall deeper into the ecstacy.

It was a dream, to be with his Lance like this. Keith begged to memorize the sweet giving nature of every movement: the way Lance arched into him, pulled against his grip, offered his lips for Keith’s gentle bites. He begged that this could be more than a fading memory, that his hands could move with confidence over familiar skin -- that he could have this more than once.

It all felt so hauntingly familiar.

Lance’s chest heaved between his thighs. Keith felt his eyes focus on Lance’s features, with his dusted pink cheeks and bruised red lips. He was everything Keith could ever wish for, and he was so hungry for more.

He dove in like a man insatiable.

“Lance,” he breathed like a prayer.

It was euphoria, kissing Lance’s lips and trailing his tongue across Lance’s neck -- leaving a path of hickeys and bite marks across that tanned skin -- getting his fill of summer and heaven and the Earth-shattering reality of Lance’s affection.

After kissing down and around Lance’s hip bones, Keith gazed up at the sound of a moan whistling through Lance’s throat.

A halo of red circled Lance’s head. The contrast so stark against Lance’s sun-kissed skin and ocean eyes that it took Keith a moment to register what the vibrant scarlet was. Blood splattered the training room floor, dripping down Lance’s cheekbones and seeping into his hair.

Lance’s fingers had drawn bloody streaks against the training room floor where Keith had held him down, where his hands had once dug into soft soil with the smell of rot hanging in the trees. Nails cracked and bleeding. Trails of fire burned at Keith’s wrists, a delayed reaction to the heat of Lance’s tearing fingernails.

Bile bubbled in Keith’s stomach as his breath grew stale in his lungs, held too long with the urge to scream. But drawn by gravity, Keith’s eyes were pulled to Lance’s face.

Lance’s features -- that charismatic, infectious grin was destroyed, decimated by tearing teeth and a vivacious hunger. The skin was torn to bone that shone, practically glittered, under the training room lights. Blood beaded from the exposed muscles and traced trails like tears.

Jumping backward, Keith squeezed his eyes closed and pressed a hand to his lips to hold back a surge of vomit.

His fingers touched wetness at his lips, different from the tears that leaked from the corners of his eyes and raced down his cheeks. With trembling fingers, Keith yanked his hand back from his mouth to see his fingerprints outlined in red -- the same blood that stained the floor in an ever growing puddle around Lance’s head.

He’d done it again.

He’d hungered for too much.

Asked for too much.

Taken too much.

He tipped his head back and unleashed the scream that had gone stale in his lungs. It echoed against the training room walls, resounding around him like a wounded animal. He longed so badly for a shotgun to cover the taste of blood with gunpowder.

Keith woke with that scream bursting from his lips and bile tickling at the back of his throat.

He pressed shaking fingers to his lips, only to feel them chapped and trembling in a firm line.

It was only a dream.

Pulling the blanket over his head and burying into the sheets that only faintly smelled of vanilla and cedar, Keith cursed his imagination. The dream felt so real, built from authentic memories and fears. He could still taste Lance’s blood, feel his stomach clench in anticipation of the ecstasy, the copper taste, the revulsion that was haunted by lust.

Squeezing his eyes closed, Keith mumbled to himself, “It was only a dream. It was only a dream.”

But it was so much more than that.

  


**~~~~**

  


“So,” Keith wiped at his forehead with a rag Lance had tossed him. Lance gazed up at him, crouched on the ground and sipping at the water pouch, but Keith couldn’t meet his eyes. “I’m pretty sure I don’t need this ‘buddy system’ anymore.”

Lance straightened up, clamping his teeth on the water pouch as he stretched his hands over his head with a crack. Swinging his hands by his sides, Lance cocked his hip and plucked the pouch from his mouth. Pointing the straw at Keith, Lance raised a single eyebrow and asked, “Is this your nice way of telling me you don’t want to train together any more?”

“What?!” Keith’s gaze jumped to Lance, because even after the dream from last night, Keith didn’t want this time to stop. It had become routine. It had become his time with Lance, the one time during the day that the memories stayed to silent in the back of his mind.

No matter how much he wanted to say yes, to chase Lance away, to keep Lance safe, Keith couldn’t do it. He was so desperate to be selfish, to rely on his teammates -- to rely on Lance -- even without having to detail his atrocities.

“No. Of course not, Lance.”

“Good,” Lance smiled softly, letting his eyes trace the thinness of Keith’s arms, “because there’s no way in hell Allura or Pidge is going to reverse this.”

Keith tipped his head back and groaned, thinking about all of his empty mornings and how desperate he was to fill his time here, to chase away the memories.

“At least not anytime soon,” Lance added with a soft laugh that Keith would’ve missed if he wasn’t so attuned to everything Lance did. Lacing his hands behind his head, Lance strode towards the exit. “Now before you start suggesting anything crazy, let’s get some lunch.”

  


**~~~~**

  


Was this getting easier? Or did it just feel like the haze was threatening to settle back over his life -- like all of those days he’d lost during the first time loop?

  


**~~~~**

  


Keith hadn’t meant to overhear the conversation, hadn’t meant to peak in on their relationship -- even if he had been so desperately curious when Shiro mentioned it the week before.

Honest to god, he woke in the middle of the night to the sight of Lance’s charred body curled in the cafe. The sight was so nauseating familiar that Keith couldn’t stand to be in his room, so constricting that it wrung his lungs. Keith wandered the hallways, desperate to work off the excess adrenaline before a calming shower.

Somehow every shower his conversation with Shiro, nestled in the thick steam and warm water, seemed to lack so distinctly in what he was yearning for. He couldn’t bring himself to identify what was missing, because with that realization came something he wasn’t ready for yet.

Before he noticed the soft light emanating from the open kitchen door, his footsteps were heavy and plodding. His mind was fixated somewhere else, universes spanning the distance between his thoughts and his body. He paused at the sight of the light, and at the sound of muted conversation, Keith was surprised that they hadn’t heard his approach and stopped talking.

Curious, he examined the silhouettes cast against the hallway walls and walked to the threshold with silenced footsteps. He was about to announce himself when he heard his name on Shiro’s lips, “Keith broke down, and I - I had no idea what to do.”

Pressing tight against the wall, Keith peered around the door to see Shiro hunched over the counter, elbows propped on table and hands clasping at his head. His fingers were threaded in the strands of his hair, and the tendrils seemed to tremble with the slight tremble of his hands. A cup of coffee rested between his arms as steam curled and brushed his face. He looked so fragile in the dim light of the kitchen.

Allura sat on the counter next to him, gazing at the far wall with a distant look to her eyes. Her feet swung with a lazy beat. There was a messiness to her hair as it tumbled in a low bun, half of the hair falling out and cascading straight down her back. It looked like Shiro had dragged her from her bed; it was evident that he hadn’t even tried to sleep.

“Lance didn’t know what happened, and I can barely get Keith to tell me anything. Like getting him to tell me just about his crush on Lance was like pulling teeth, Allura.”

She chuckled, shaking her head with a small smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “Keith has never been forthcoming. I think he confided in you because you gave him the space he needed to come to you in his own capacity, rather than just demanding answers.”

Shiro’s hands ripped from his hair and slammed on the countertop. Coffee splashed over the sides of the mug and splattered across the table.

Keith jumped back at the sudden, rageful motion, but Allura didn’t seem startled with that outburst. Gazing over her shoulder, she watched Shiro with tired eyes.

“I-I just know something’s wrong,” Shiro admitted, voice cracking around the words. His shoulders shook but all that left him was a wheezed exhale. Curling in on himself, Shiro’s eyes squeezed shut, and a look of absolute agony twisted his features.

Keith felt bile curl in his stomach at the sight of his best friend.

_“I could barely think beyond you and that cryopod and that goddamn alarm. I still hear it every fucking morning, and I can’t --”_

Allura placed a comforting hand on Shiro’s shoulder, fingers delicate against his broad frame.

Keith wanted to jump forward and defend himself, to spin some sort of story with Lance’s enthusiasm and charisma. He would hide the aching pain that leaked from his bone marrow with a captivating rising action and a hopeful resolution. He would tell a tale that Shiro would believe, covering his tracks and all the memories that haunted his nights.

But even if Keith had been able to finesse some lowlife, Galra sailors, there was no way he could deceive Shiro.

“I know you can see it too, Allura.” Shiro’s shoulders heaved with each breath as if trying to shake off Allura’s hand, but her grip stayed firm and supportive even while he threatened to break apart beside her.

“Yes, he has been very unlike himself.”

Shiro swallowed stiffly before turning his face up to meet Allura’s gaze. “He reminds me so much of us.”

Her posture stiffened at the implication.

Silence filled the room with a tension that Keith was unaccustomed to feeling, because normally in these moments Lance would break through with a charming story and a brilliant smile.

Pressing a hand to his lips, Keith stumbled to a seat against the open kitchen door. His gaze was fixated on the two silhouettes and their strange stillness. Digging his fingers into his cheeks, he tried to fight against the rising bile as his thoughts overwhelmed him.

Had Shiro meant that he saw the manifestation of Keith’s memories -- the same struggle that Shiro battled and Allura hid; the PTSD that plagued them without warning or relief? Had Shiro noticed everything that Keith had been struggling to hide?

Each harsh breath whistled between his clenched fingers.

“Do you think it has something to do with what you all saw that day?”

Allura’s voice made his muscles seize to a stop. Keith squeezed his eyes closed as bile burned at the back of his throat, fingers tightening against his cheeks. That looming sense of dread saturated every molecule of his blood, thudding with each beat of his heart. He barely breathed as he listened to the quiet conversation from the other room.

“Keith is exhibiting some classic symptoms of post traumatic stress disorder, and after what Lance was telling us,” Allura sighed rather than continuing. There was a softness to her voice that Keith had never heard before. “With the power of the lions anything is possible.”

“I -- I don’t want,” Shiro growled, but it was a soft snarl, catching on tears in his throat. “What do I do if that’s true? How am I supposed to help him if --” a soft sob cut off whatever Shiro was about to say.

“It was only a theory, Shiro. And I must say that even with the lions, it does seem,” she hummed softly as she thought, “improbable.”

“But Pidge and Slav --”

“Since when do you put faith in Slav?” Allura’s voice cut off Shiro, steady and loud in over the hushed tones of their conversation. “You’ve detested him from the moment we rescued him from Beta Traz.”

Shiro’s response was almost lost under the hum of the castle, “I wouldn’t say _detested_.”

The smile was evident in Allura’s voice as she said, “You were actively thinking of ways to torture him. Trap him in a room with cracks all around him or spill water outside of his room so he couldn’t leave without the threat of drowning. Or --”

“Yeah, yeah I get it,” Shiro grumbled, and Keith felt a small smile curl on his lips, because this was what Shiro had mentioned when he spoke of their relationship; he had been spiraling so quickly and with a single comment, Allura had steadied him.

The Shiro Keith had left behind was different. But it seemed that the months of his absence had a positive impact on Shiro’s relationship with Allura -- which was a positive Keith found himself clinging to. Seeing Shiro confide in someone was refreshing.

Unfortunately, there had always been a distance between Keith and Shiro, a formalness instilled in them from their days at the Galaxy Garrison. And after everything Shiro had been through, he needed the support, the comfort: he needed Allura.

Silence settled between them, and Keith pushed off the wall, ready to walk back to the showers and hope that the warm water would lull him back to sleep.

Digging his hands in his pockets, he made it three steps away from the door before Shiro’s voice stopped him.

“Just because Slav sounds crazy doesn’t mean he wasn’t right.” Shiro’s tone was strained, but not by tears. “I have no other explanation. So any answer, no matter how improbable, is better than the other possibilities we’ve been guessing at for months!”

“Shiro--”

“Do you have any better ideas, Allura? Why do you think Keith died and came back to life? Why didn’t the cryopod have any explanation other than a printout of symptoms? It doesn’t matter how many days of data Pidge has. We have no real explanation!”

Keith’s blood fractured into ice and his breath turned to frost in his lungs.

He died in the cryopod. Only to come back to life.

And everyone had seen it.

“Not everything is bound by your understanding of the universe, Shiro.” Allura’s voice was calm, but there was a hardened edge to it. “There are things beyond our knowledge, things beyond explanation.”

“I saw him _die_ , Allura!” Shiro’s hand slammed against the counter, sending his chair careening to the ground. “Not just in that cryopod--”

“Shiro, please--”

“Just before Red dove in front of the komar, I saw Keith -- saw him -- he jumped,” the rage in Shiro’s tone had fizzled into sobs, “and I couldn’t -- can’t --”

Allura shushed him quietly, but Shiro’s whimpers and muffled cries were still audible.

Keith’s stomach clenched, threatening to spill his dinner all across the hallway floor. Icy claws of fear sunk into his hip bones and teeth of bitter anxiety gnawed on his ribs. Whispers caressed his ears with a mockery of intimacy, reminding him of all the atrocities he’d committed, the terrors he’d reeked with a single swing of his crowbar, a snap of his jaws, the snap of his fingers.

They knew so much -- so much more than Keith could comprehend.

Pidge’s focus and her late night call to Slav must be related to this, all of this information that they had. Because if his every death was mirrored by his body, they all knew far too much.

But if they knew everything he’d really done, there wouldn’t be this sympathy.

The door to these past months was like Pandora’s box, except there would be no hope left at the end. Once again, he would be alone and isolated in this world that he’d struggled so hard to get back to.

He refused to lose the people he fought for in every reality.

So rather than entering that kitchen and spilling the poison that filled his veins, Keith retreated down the hallway, farther away from company and the light of the kitchen.

  


**~~~~**

  


He couldn’t tell Shiro. He couldn’t tell Lance. He couldn’t tell anyone.

Because how could they understand? How could they accept him as he was?

He had literally killed them all. He learned the best way to smash in their skulls, to slit their throats, to break their spines. He was a monster. Trained and polished in the breadth of war.

No matter how much relief he’d gotten from telling Shiro about his crush on Lance, Keith knew there would be no relief, no absolution, for everything he’d done.

And he would rather be dead than lose his family all over again.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter titled: Confessions
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this behemoth of a chapter!
> 
> Once again, thank you to the overwhelming support I got last chapter (≧◡≦) ♡ all of your support and passion for this fic and my writing makes me tear up, and I'm so grateful to all of you who comment and leave kudos ♡♡♡

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed!!
> 
> Comments and kudos _fuel_ meeeeee -- as well as making my day, so please let me know your thoughts °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°


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